Herbert Garrison's Night School for Unwed Fathers
by hollycomb
Summary: Pregnant and jilted, Henrietta places a vengeful spell on the senior class boys, wanting them to feel her pain. Stan and Kyle are just two of the unwitting victims. Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, Craig/Tweek, Token/Clyde
1. Prologue

**A/N:** So, between LTP and my next "serious" SP fic (plus my big bang fic! Google 'South Park big bang' if that's news), here's this one. It**'**s** not from Henrietta's POV**, only the prologue is - the rest of the fic is from Stan's POV. I'm going to post the first chapter immediately after this prologue, to give a better sense of what the actual story will be like. The pairings are Stan/Kyle, Cartman/Wendy, Kenny/Butters, Token/Clyde and Craig/Tweek.

* * *

><p>At first, the idea of being pregnant with the Antichrist was a kind of consolation. If she had to go through this bullshit and end up with an even fatter ass than the one she'd barely managed to slim down to a size twelve, at least her baby would like, put an end to the complacent lives of all the phony conformist assholes who currently populated the earth.<p>

Then Damien, who couldn't really be trusted but seemed to be telling the truth, informed her that the kid he'd knocked her up with wasn't even the fucking Antichrist.

"I'm the Antichrist," he said. "I suppose if the little bastard were to grow up and kill me, he would inherit the title. So, here." He gave her a white envelope. She opened it and scowled at the contents: five new-looking one hundred dollar bills.

"What the hell is this?" Henrietta asked.

"Money for an abortion, genius." He was smoking a cigarette and drinking a Diet Coke out of one of those old-fashioned glass bottles, looking at her like she was exceptionally slow, which used to be kind of hot.

"Is this even real money?" The idea of an abortion depressed her, though she didn't want a fucking kid, either.

"It's real in a sense," Damien said. "Real enough for Planned Parenthood."

"What if I told you I'm keeping it?" She was almost afraid of him but not quite. If he wanted to hang out on earth, he couldn't kill or maim, at least not without a decree from his father, who was more interested in hosting wine and cheese parties with his boyfriend than world domination.

Damien drank the last of his Coke and rolled his eyes. They were hanging out in the parking lot of the Village Inn, and Wren was watching them through the front window, still hunched over his coffee in their usual booth. Henrietta kept catching sight of his hair flip from the corner of her eye.

"If you want to keep it, that's your problem," Damien said. "But I'm not going to keep giving you envelopes full of money, so. Take that into consideration."

"Excuse me?" She wasn't sure why she was surprised. All of her online friends had been so jealous when she started going out with the actual Son of Satan – the ones who believed her, anyway – and Wren and Ferris had been jealous, too, but Damien had never really treated her like a girlfriend, and half the time he'd seemed more interested in bumming cigarettes than fucking her.

"Look, I'm not gonna be around that much anymore," Damien said.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

"It's got nothing to do with you and your – situation," Damien said. He squinted at something in the distance, probably thinking about how hot he looked. He was the vainest motherfucker she'd ever met, and it sucked to be one of the people who understood why, because she wanted to drop her panties for him even now, sort of. "I met someone," Damien said.

Henrietta snorted. "Someone? Some chick?" She tried to appear indifferent. Damien shook his head.

"He's more like a catamite," he said. "Turns out I'm into that. Fucking you helped me understand that, so thanks."

"A cat – a boy?"

"Technically he's our age," Damien said. "It's complicated."

"Uh? How so?"

"Well, he's dead," Damien said. "He's downstairs, in my neighborhood. Anyway, it's pretty serious, so I'm not really planning on coming up top again, like. Ever."

"Not even for cigarettes?" Henrietta was decimated, trying to figure out how she was going to report this to Wren, who already thought she was a fool. It was easy for him to say – he was just another gay South Park boy. There were eight thousand of them for every girl, and now, apparently, Damien had gotten gay with kids, too.

"I'm going to quit smoking," Damien said. He threw the cigarette down and ground it under his boot. "Pip doesn't like it."

"Pip? That's his fucking name? Oh, Jesus – is this – Pip Pirrup? Bradley's friend who died?"

"We met in South Park," Damien said. "Years ago. If he was friends with your brother, well, that's unfortunate, but it's irrelevant now. Alright, you've got your money. Thanks for the smoke. I'll be seeing you. Or, not, actually, but you know what I mean."

"Excuse me, no!" she said, feeling the weight of her own futility as he started to walk away. "You can't just – what the fuck is wrong with everybody? You're like the tenth or eleventh South Park fucker who woke up one day and decided he'd rather just fuck his buddies. What the hell is going on? Am I on crack?" She wanted to drop down to her knees and sob into the pavement, but no way was he going to get the pleasure of seeing that. Damien turned back and gave her a heavy-lidded stare.

"I don't know what to tell you," he said. "But there's definitely one advantage. All the unprotected sex you want and none of this pregnancy nonsense."

"This pregnancy nonsense? Fuck you! This is your child!" She gestured to her stomach, though she wasn't showing yet.

"You're being very conformist right now, Henrietta," he said, and he smirked. "But hey, cheer up. While you're pregnant with my kid, I'm pretty sure you'll have actual powers. So have fun with that for a few weeks, get the abortion, then get on with your life."

Before she could tell him to go fuck himself he disappeared into thin air, leaving behind the smell of motor oil and gun powder that she'd once loved.

Back inside the Village Inn, she tried to hold it together as she walked to the table where Wren waited, his posture horrible. She was glad that it was only him here and not the other two bastards, but it was still hard to meet his eyes when she sat down, and not just because hers were watering.

"Fucking typical," Wren said, scooting across the half-moon booth to sit close to her.

"Whatever," Henrietta said. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a coffee-stained napkin. "It's not like I thought he would help me. Fucking – conformist – chauvinist – male – asshole."

"Seriously," Wren said. "Fuck him. He's such a sorry fucking excuse for the son of Satan. What a disappointment. Like _everything_, Jesus." He gave her a fresh napkin, and she cursed when she saw the ugly black residue of her eye makeup on the first one. "What's that?" Wren asked, nodding to the envelope on the table.

"Five hundred dollars," Henrietta said, her voice steadying a little. "It's counterfeit, though, I think. That asshole wouldn't even put the energy into robbing someone for me."

"What's that supposed to be, like, child support?"

"No, Wren." She rolled her eyes. "He wants me to get, you know. Rid of it."

"Oh." Wren stared down at the envelope nervously, as if an abortion was happening within it. For someone so obsessed with death and despair, he could be really fucking naive and sentimental, which was actually why Henrietta preferred his company to that of the others, if only so she could seem dark and world weary in comparison.

"You know why, too?" she said, scoffing, and she blew her nose into a napkin, not caring that she was being disgusting. "He wants me to kill it so that it can't kill him. If my baby grew up it would totally kill his ass and be a way better Antichrist. That's what he's afraid of. Fucking coward. Oh, and guess what? He won't be on earth for a while, because he's found himself a dead boyfriend."

Wren stared as if waiting for the punchline, and did his slow blink thing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said.

"I wish." Henrietta crumpled the napkin and threw it down. "I guess he caught the South Park disease."

She felt bad after saying that, even though Wren pretended not to be gay for some reason or other. It had always been obvious to her that he was, even when they were kids, whereas the jock assholes at Henrietta's high school had all started pairing up and fucking each other sometime around sophomore year, presumably because they could do it without condoms or consequences.

"Well, maybe he'll get his boyfriend pregnant, too," Wren said. "Since he's got, like, a demon dick or whatever."

"It was a normal dick," Henrietta said. "At least, it looked normal, and felt, well, better than the others I've had, but not—"

"God, okay," Wren said, shuddering. "Don't tell me about his dick."

"You're the one who brought it up."

"Whatever, Henry, fuck. What are you going to do?"

She sat staring down at her hands on the table, chipping some of the already half-gone black nail polish from them. Damien had been her first love, in a way, though of course she didn't believe in love or monogamous relationships or any of that fairy tale bullshit. He hadn't been her first lay, but he'd been the first guy she'd been with who was good at fucking. She'd never even had an orgasm before him, and the ones he gave her had made her stupid and weak, the kind of dumb cheerleading squad pollyanna who believed a guy when he said that half-demon sperm couldn't impregnate human women. Now he had the fucking nerve to claim that he must have been misinformed, probably just lying to cover his ass. It was always hard to tell, with him.

"He told me I'd have powers while I'm pregnant," she said to Wren, who was staring at her mournfully.

"What kind of powers?"

"I don't know. He probably just said that to fuck with me."

"Try to do that fire in the palm thing," Wren said. "Like the way he lights his cigarettes."

Henrietta opened her palm and they both stared down at it. She envisioned fire, moved her fingers a little, narrowed her eyes. Nothing happened. Wren sighed.

"I know one thing he said was true," Henrietta said. "I know he wants me to get rid of this kid. That's why he was acting all cool and like it wasn't a big deal. He doesn't want me to know that he fucked up and he's scared that this kid could grow up and hurt him. Maybe he really didn't know he could get a girl pregnant."

"Fuck what he wants," Wren said. "What do you want?"

"I'll tell you what I want," Henrietta said, making her hands into fists on the tabletop. "I want to have this kid and raise it to be some bad ass demon warrior who will smite his ass into a fucking pile of ashes. Pip's, too. Though I guess he's already dead."

"Yeah," Wren said, brightening. He never dared to smile when Ferris was around to make fun of him for it, but Henrietta could bring it out of him sometimes. "That'd be fucking killer, Henry. You could be the mother of the Antichrist. You could like, rule the world."

"All the assholes at school who make fun of us would be our slaves," she said, bringing her hand down to her stomach, though it was much too soon to feel any baby-related stirrings. "Shit, you know what else would be awesome?"

"What?"

"If we found a spell for male pregnancy and made all those dickholes at school know how it feels."

"Oh, my God." Wren's eyes went wide. "How fucking sweet would it be if Craig Tucker's little crack addict boyfriend got pregnant?" Craig was Wren's most adamant tormentor, next to Eric Cartman, who tormented everyone adamantly.

"How sweet would it be if Craig Tucker got pregnant?" Henrietta said, grinning for the first time in maybe, like, a year. Wren laughed and held his hand over his mouth.

Henrietta had only been joking about world domination and male pregnancy, and even, to some extent, keeping the baby, but when they got back to her house Wren went right for the spell books, paging through them and looking for male pregnancy spells.

"You get acne when you're pregnant, right?" Wren said.

"I don't know," Henrietta said, touching her cheek. Her breakouts had finally calmed in the past few years. As if pregnancy wasn't enough of a pain in the ass humiliation. "Find anything in there?" she asked, her rage renewed.

"No," Wren said. "I was just thinking about how great it would be if Craig broke out and gained fifty pounds and – oh my God. What if they all got tits, too? Big, leaking tits."

"If that happened," Henrietta said, "I would sell my fucking soul." She thought of Kyle Broflovski, who traipsed around the school in Stan Marsh's junior high football jerseys in order to communicate to the student body in no uncertain terms that Stan was fucking him on a regular basis. Kyle was always bitchily correcting her in Honors Lit class when he disagreed with her interpretations of poems, as if he'd written them himself and was personally offended. Stan had been Henrietta's childhood crush, and she knew that deep down he still hated life as much and as profoundly as she did, and that he was a sensitive boy who this world full of hollow-eyed conformists did not deserve. Kyle Broflovski certainly didn't deserve him, and it enraged her every time she saw Stan smiling down at bony, not-even-cute Kyle like he was under some kind of succubus' spell. She imagined Kyle getting fat, saddled with E cups and hysterical with hormones.

"Hey, look," Wren said after they had both been quiet for a while, Wren flipping the pages of the spell books while Henrietta fantasized about Stan being too grossed out by pregnant Kyle to continue fucking him. "I think I found something."

"Seriously?" Henrietta scooted over on the bed to make room for him, and he laid the book across their thighs. He had it open to a spell from a rare book they'd pooled their money to buy last year. Ferris had claimed he would contribute, but he didn't really believe in magic the way that Wren and Henrietta did, and had reneged on his offer after they paid for the book, suddenly claiming to think the whole thing was stupid.

"This is Latin," Wren said, like Henrietta didn't know that. She was on vocational track, but only because she hated school and planned on dropping out as soon as she'd saved up enough money for a car. Wren was in AP classes and always did his homework, even while claiming that he believed the world was a pointless waste of space that would inevitably sink into the black hole of humanity's filth.

"It's not for male pregnancy specifically," Wren said. "But you can tailor the spell to your needs. We could just add some fertility stuff to the potion. The spell is called The Equalizer, and it was invented by a witch who wanted the men in her town to bleed for a week like she did every month. It says here that it worked, but they didn't grow vaginas or anything, they just bled out their asses."

"Sweet," Henrietta said.

"It's worth a try," Wren said, shrugging. "If it's true that you really do have powers while you're pregnant with his kid, this could actually work, and if it doesn't we're only out some powdered horn of ox and chicken blood. All this other stuff is easy to find."

"So it's just a potion?" Henrietta said, pulling the book closer, though she couldn't read the words. "How do we get them to drink it?"

"We could dump some into the punch bowl at the next party Bebe Stevens throws," Wren said. "Those things are so crowded, and everybody gets so wasted – I bet nobody would even notice if we showed up."

"Yeah," Henrietta said, cringing at the thought of setting foot in one of those lame ass parties where all the little sheep at her school drank Coors Light and screwed each other in dark corners. "But what if girls drank it?"

"It says here that the witch tried to drink some so that it would have the opposite effect on her, you know, no more medieval-style sanitary products, but it did nothing. And who fucking cares what happens to the girls? You hate them, too."

"It's true," Henrietta said, tugging on her bottom lip. She thought of the girls who attended Bebe's parties – Wendy Testaburger, class president and foremost ass kisser of every teacher in school, who pretended to be all about feminism and self respect, even though everyone knew she'd let that bigoted misogynist fuck Eric Cartman eat her out on the class trip to the Grand Canyon two years back. Rebecca "Red" Hale went to those things, too, and she was the most insufferable, J. Crew-wearing asshole in the tri-county area, also captain of the cheerleading squad. Bebe was the only one Henrietta could stand, but just barely. She smoked cigarettes, drove a pick up truck, and had once complained to Henrietta, in the girls bathroom at school, that every hot guy in the senior class was turning gay, and that if she didn't get laid soon she was going to have to resort to the humiliation of fucking juniors.

"Let's do it," Henrietta said, and Wren smiled for the second time that day, which made her smile, too.

"Should we tell Ferris?" Wren asked.

"Fuck no," she said. Ferris had dropped out of school back in September when a teacher caught him smoking in the boys room and tried to discipline him. He'd been an asshole to Henrietta ever since she'd started sleeping with Damien, and he'd always been an asshole to Wren. "And don't tell him I'm pregnant, either," Henrietta said.

"You're going to keep it?" Wren said. She groaned.

"At least until some motherfuckers on the football team get pregnant, yeah."


	2. Chapter 1

Stan was a little drunk before they even arrived at the party, and he was wishing that Kyle was, too. Kyle had gotten in a fight with his mother just before they left his house, and he was still in a combative mood, finding fault with Stan in lieu of his mother.

"Why can't you wait until we're at the party to start drinking?" Kyle asked when they had almost reached Bebe's house. They could already hear the music: "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us" by Starship. It was an 80's theme party, and Kyle had already barked at Stan for refusing to dress accordingly. It wasn't, as Kyle accused, that Stan thought he was too cool for costumes. He was just so goddamn tired of all this nudge wink nostalgic irony that nobody could talk him into an 80's getup, not even his vintage Elway jersey. To wear it to this shit would have been sacrilege.

"These parties are boring," Stan said. "I can't even get through five minutes of them without a buzz. We could have just stayed home and watched movies," he said, pining for the couch in his basement and the Netflix DVD he'd just gotten in the mail that afternoon: _Revenge_ _of_ _the_ _Scorpion_ _King_. He missed bad movie Fridays with Kyle. It used to be their tradition.

"Watched movies my ass," Kyle said. "You know what would happen if we stayed in. You'd start molesting me during the opening credits, I'd consent to getting fingered, we'd fuck and end up asleep twenty minutes later. This is our last year of high school, dude. These relationships are important to me! We have to be at least a little social."

"What relationships?" Stan asked, trying to think of anyone who would be at this party who Kyle didn't secretly loathe or frequently complain about in the privacy of his or Stan's room.

"Well, you know, our friends," Kyle said, though he seemed to be at a loss to name any particular person. "Kenny!" he said after a moment's consideration.

"We just saw Kenny at lunch," Stan said. "He ate half my chicken fingers and talked about a video he saw of a walrus masturbating."

"I remember," Kyle said, cringing. "But—"

"And you know he's gonna be wasted, and he'll get all emotional about how Butters wasn't allowed to come to the party because he's grounded, and he'll start reminiscing about times they fucked—"

"God." Kyle had no further rebuttal, probably because he knew it was true. "Well, um. Maybe Jimmy will come."

"No, he won't, because it's Friday night, and Jimmy spends Fridays with his girlfriend. That's what normal couples do, Kyle."

"Yeah, old married couples! Dude, I love you, I want to spend every minute of my life with you, and I mean, you know this, but we're only seventeen."

"I turned eighteen last week," Stan said. Low on money, Kyle had given him a little book of coupons: one free massage from Kyle (20 minutes), one pan of the Broflovski family chocolate bread pudding recipe that Stan loved, one pre-school blowjob in Stan's car (pending the availability of private parking), and so forth. Stan hadn't redeemed any of them yet.

"You know what I mean!" Kyle said. "We can't spend every weekend on the couch rubbing each other's crotches under your mom's old quilts. That's what we're gonna do for the rest of our lives!"

"Promise?" Stan said. Kyle grinned and shoved him.

"Duh," he said. "But in the meantime, we're young, we should be, like, partying."

"Says the guy who doesn't drink."

"There's more to being social than getting shitfaced and puking on people's shoes! There's, you know, music, and conversation, and – themed outfits, for those of us who are polite enough to follow our hostesses' instructions."

Stan rolled his eyes. Kyle had dressed in a vintage neon shirt that had belonged to his mother back when she was a Jersey girl and tight purple jeans that he'd bought just for the occasion, because he'd take any excuse to show off his ass, especially if the girls who admired it sadly from afar would be present. He was hoping to outdo Craig, who usually had the most expensive and flamboyant outfit at these things. Craig would have Tweek decked out in a complimentary getup as usual. Stan wasn't that kind of boyfriend. He would do anything for Kyle, except let Kyle tell him how to dress.

"Token," Kyle said, gesturing to a black Lexus that was parked on the street near Bebe's house.

"What about him?" Stan asked.

"He'll be there! You like Token."

"Yeah, but he'll be with Clyde, and Clyde is fucking obnoxious when he's drunk, plus he attracts the presence of Craig and Tweek."

"Do you think they're fucking?" Kyle asked, pausing at the end of Bebe's driveway to retie one of his shoes.

"Craig and Tweek? Uh, yeah. Did we not see Craig plowing Tweek last Saturday at Token's thing? Did I hallucinate that?"

"Not them." Kyle stood, groaning. "And yes, we did see that. I still say it was intentional. Who leaves the door unlocked when they fuck somebody in the bathroom at a crowded party?"

"Not me," Stan said.

"But no, I meant Token and Clyde," Kyle said. "Token's so sort of – careful with him, have you noticed?"

"No," Stan said. "God, first Kenny and now Token? Everybody's just jealous of us. That's what I think."

"Yes, they're not actually gay, they just want to try to recreate the Stan and Kyle magic." Kyle rolled his eyes when he said this, but he was smiling, and Stan knew this was his secret theory. "But, no, if Token was emulating anybody, I guess it would be Craig."

"Why would anyone emulate Craig?"

"Well, he does know how to dress, and so does Token, actually. Won't you at least put these on?" Kyle asked, pulling a pair of squarish sunglasses with neon green frames from his back pocket.

"It's nighttime," Stan said, and Kyle groaned.

"Put them on your head."

"Why?"

"For the theme!"

"If it will make you happy," Stan said, because he didn't want to spend the whole party with his tail between his legs while Kyle pretended to be some kind of social butterfly. He wanted to have a few more drinks and endure the party with Kyle in his lap, wanted to squeeze Kyle's ass and know that at least a few people in the room were envying him. So he put the sunglasses on his head.

"Thank you," Kyle said. Stan put his arm out and Kyle took it. They walked up the stairs to Bebe's front porch this way, some of the last people to arrive. The party was crowded and noisy, and Stan was sweating by the time they made their way into the kitchen, where the makeshift bar was set up on the counter. Cartman was there, sweating profusely and mixing whiskey with Diet Pepsi. His signature drink.

"Goddamn, Kyle," Cartman said, eying him while Stan helped himself to some vodka and Sprite. "You've really out-fagged yourself this time."

"Jesus, you are like, dripping," Kyle said, holding up a hand to warn Cartman to keep his distance. "Don't tell me you were dancing."

"Um, no," Cartman said. "Like I would dance with any of the stuck up _bitches_ at this school." He looked into the living room while he said so, as if to direct this to some girl who might be listening, but nobody was.

"Defecting to our side, then?" Stan said. He made a drink for Kyle without asking him if he wanted one, and Kyle accepted it with a sigh.

"Your side?" Cartman scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks. The guys at this school who take it up the ass are bigger bitches than the chicks."

"Oh, everybody's a bitch or a fag, that's right," Kyle said, glaring at Cartman. "It's not that you're insufferable company. And getting fat again, seems like."

"Hey, hey," Stan said, because he actually felt kind of badly for Cartman. He'd dropped a ton of weight when he got his first major growth spurt at thirteen, and more when he got taller during their sophomore year. For two years he was kind of built and strong, a defenseman on the football team and actively pursued by younger girls who didn't know better, but something seemed to have shifted in his metabolism in the past year. He was rapidly developing an adult-sized beer belly and a renewed double chin.

"Whatever, Kyle," Cartman said, his drink sloshing around dangerously when he gestured. He already seemed pretty gone. "Nobody really likes you. People only tolerate you because you're Stan's come bucket."

"Fuck off," Stan said, shoving Cartman, his sympathy evaporating. Cartman fell back against the counter with a grunt, some of his drink spilling onto his shirt, which was not 80's themed, just the usual untucked button-down that was meant to hide his girth. Cartman glowered at Stan and stood up straight, towering over him. He was almost half a foot taller, six foot six if he spiked his fringe up with gel.

"Aw, are you guys already fighting over Kyle?" Bebe said, walking over with Wendy. "And not even an hour into the party."

"I'm not fighting over the Jew," Cartman said, drunk enough to take her bait. "I'm just reminding him why people bother to talk to him."

"Fuck you," Kyle said, but he didn't seem particularly invested in the argument, scowling down at his drink. "Stan, this is way too strong, God." He put the cup on the counter, and Stan shrugged, picked it up, and dumped the contents into his own cup.

"Here, Kyle, have some punch," Bebe said, ladling some out of a bowl near the liquor bottles. "I made it really sweet. You can't even taste the liquor."

"That sounds dangerous," Kyle said. He accepted a cup of punch and looked down into it like it might rear up and bite him.

"Just try it, Kyle," Wendy said. She always jumped at the opportunity to point out what she viewed as Kyle's wimpier qualities. "It's a party."

Stan put his arm around Kyle. He actually liked it that Kyle didn't drink, most of the time. It meant he was smart, strong enough not to need to erase the parts of life that Stan sometimes couldn't bear, and that he had _principles_. Stan kissed Kyle's cheek when he drank, and Wendy wandered off.

"That's not bad, actually," Kyle said, and he drank more. "Kind of yummy, wow."

"How shocking," Cartman said. "The Jew likes the girlie booze. God, it's pink and everything."

"What do you put in this?" Kyle asked, ignoring Cartman. He was almost chugging the drink now, as if it was quenching some profound thirst.

"Champagne and Sharkleberry Punch," Bebe said. "And a little vodka."

Kyle finished his drink and asked for another, which made Stan laugh. He waved to Kenny, who seemed relatively sober, for Kenny, as he pushed through the crowd and entered the kitchen.

"You slut," Bebe said when Kenny stood beside her, watching her ladle more punch for Kyle. "I didn't even know you were here."

"I just got here," Kenny said. He kissed Bebe's cheek. They had dated through junior high and for part of freshman year, and apparently they'd had most of their sexual firsts together. Stan got the feeling Bebe was still in love with Kenny, though Kenny said it couldn't be true. He was with Butters now, which nobody understood. It was a recent development, and suddenly Kenny was no longer kissing and telling, not even to Stan, who told had Kenny plenty about Kyle.

"Where's your little girlfriend?" Cartman asked Kenny as he fixed himself a drink.

"Grounded," Kenny said, offering no objection to a reference to Butters as his girlfriend. "He got a 96 on a math test."

"That delinquent," Bebe said, but Kenny didn't smile. "Aw, well, poor Butters," she said. "Are you going to go see him later?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "His parents go to bed at eleven. They haven't barred the window yet, fingers crossed."

"I could make you a to-go thermos of punch for him," Bebe said, petting Kenny's back. "Poor thing could probably use a drink."

"I've always wanted to get him a little drunk," Kenny said, grinning.

Meanwhile, Kyle was helping himself to a third cup of punch.

"Dude, slow down," Stan said, squeezing his shoulder. Kyle scowled at him and drank.

"Coming from you?" he said. "That's funny. No, hey, be my designated – uh. Escort, tonight, would you? I like this stuff. I feel like being the drunk one for once."

"You changed your tune fast," Stan said, slightly worried. Kyle shrugged.

"Try this," he said. He pressed his cup to Stan's cheek. "It's delicious."

"No thanks," Stan said, leaning away. "Champagne gives me headaches. Let's go sit down for a minute, okay?"

"I actually kind of feel like dancing," Kyle said as they headed into the living room, where some corny Billy Ocean song was blaring. Stan made a disapproving noise.

"I don't really dance, dude," he said. "And you don't, either." He wasn't going to let Kyle embarrass himself; he'd never forgive Stan if he did. Kyle sighed and allowed Stan to pull him down onto an unoccupied section of the couch, where Stan kissed him, which proved a good distraction. Kyle quickly dropped the dancing idea and started running his fingers through Stan's hair, kissing him more deeply and enthusiastically than he usually did in public.

"Gonna fuck you so hard when we get home," Stan murmured in Kyle's ear, and he felt Kyle do a sort of full body shudder thing. Kyle nodded and knocked his forehead against Stan's, peering down into his eyes.

"I feel so –" Kyle said, and he left off there, moaning a little. "I want more of that stuff."

"What, the punch? Jesus, did she put a little crack in there, too? No, just – chill with me for a minute, c'mere."

They kissed again, and Kyle threw himself into it, seeming to forget his plan to get a refill just as easily as he'd abandoned the goal of dancing. Most people who knew them thought that Kyle bossed Stan around incessantly – Wendy thought this, anyway – but Kyle was easy to reign in if you knew how to pick your battles, and Stan's major talent was picking battles, particularly where Kyle was concerned. Eighties clothes for a stupid party were a no, but the sunglasses were fine, and in fact had already been knocked off of his head by Kyle, who hadn't seemed to notice, his hands still sliding through Stan's hair. He had a fetish for Stan's hair, which worked out well, because Stan had a fetish for Kyle's short fingernails sliding across his scalp. They fit together this way in almost every respect: Stan needed someone to remind him when homework was due and when to study for tests, and Kyle loved keeping meticulously organized calendars on his phone. Stan had a lot of causes and concerns, and Kyle had a seemingly endless supply of energy and ideas. Stan liked making Kyle feel good, and Kyle had once told him that he would never trust anyone else enough to do the things that Stan did to him in the privacy of their bedrooms. Stan believed him, and loved the idea that he was the only one who got to touch Kyle, and who knew what he was like when he fell open like a clam shell, all that secret softness that nobody else got to see.

"Dude, you're making me hard," Stan said, laughing when Kyle pressed him back against the couch and kissed his neck. "And people are staring."

"Don't care," Kyle said, licking Stan in wide swaths. "Fuck, you smell good right here," he mumbled, and Stan wondered why they had to come here to do this, when they had lube and blankets in Stan's basement, his parents out for their regular Friday date night.

"Broflovski, Jesus," someone said, and they both looked up to see Craig in his usual pale-faced, stoic glory, incongruously dressed in the loudest clothes possible. In this case it was a pair of bright pink parachute pants and a tank top that said MIAMI in sea green letters. Tweek was beside him, trembling in acid washed jeans and a baggy sweater that hung off of one shoulder.

"Is he in heat?" Craig asked, speaking to Stan while Kyle continued to cling to him. "Or just drunk?"

"Nice pants," Stan said.

"Thanks," Craig said, missing the fact that Stan was being sarcastic. "I made them."

Kyle snorted. "Are you serious?" He gave Craig a once over as if looking for errors. Craig turned to show off his profile. Like he had any ass to speak of, even in parachute pants.

"He – he made mine, too!" Tweek said. "Craig wants to be – gah – a designer! He's really good!"

"Don't tell them that," Craig said, holding up his hand. Tweek cowered. "Someone point me to the alcohol. This party is a waste of my pants."

"Try the punch," Kyle said, pointing toward the kitchen. "It's super – uh – good, yeah, it's – you can't even taste the alcohol."

"Hmm, clearly," Craig said. He put out his arm and Tweek took it. Stan was glad to have them gone, and he kissed Kyle's neck again, but Kyle was distracted.

"Look, look," Kyle said, whispering loudly. "Token and Clyde – see, I told you."

Stan turned to see Token sitting on the arm of a chair across the room, Clyde standing between his legs and laughing, one hand on Token's shoulder and the other holding a cup that looked like it was full of that punch. Token was smiling at Clyde indulgently, his hands on Clyde's waist.

"Aw," Stan said, too preoccupied with his throbbing dick, and the way Kyle's ass was rubbing against it, to really care much. "Good. They're good together."

"You think?" Kyle said, still staring at them. "I don't know. Clyde is so dull. Though, actually, so is Token. No, you're right, they're good together. Neither of them wore eighties clothes."

"Then they must be a perfect match," Stan said, pulling Kyle's face back to his.

"Oh," Kyle said, shifting in Stan's lap. He smiled and hiccuped a laugh. "You're so hard, dude."

"Fucking tell me about it. You want to get out of here?"

"In a minute," Kyle said, nodding slowly. "I need – more punch. And maybe to dance. Yeah. I like this song."

Stan didn't have to worry about Kyle embarrassing himself, because within ten minutes it seemed like everybody at the party was wasted and in dancing mode, Bebe encouraging this by turning up the music and pulling Kenny into the middle of the living room to dance with her. Wendy joined them, then Clyde pulled Token over. Clyde was so drunk that he was singing along with "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," hopelessly off key. Even Craig started dancing after a few glasses of punch, grinding on Tweek shamelessly while Tweek spazzed in a dance-like fashion. Kyle threw back not just one but two more cups of the punch and yanked Stan into the fray, laughing like a maniac, his curls bouncing while he shook his ass, turning in circles so that half the time he was shaking it at the general population and half the time he was rubbing it on Stan's thigh. Stan normally loathed dancing, but everyone seemed to be simultaneously experiencing one of those inhibition-free moments, and he ended up actually having fun, laughing as hard as Kyle and twirling him until he fell against Stan's chest for balance.

Cartman was the last holdout, standing on the periphery and accusing everyone of faggotry, even the girls. Wendy barely had to look at him to convince him to join in, and Stan saw Cartman put down a cup of the champagne punch before hurrying over to dance with her.

A slow song came on after everyone had worked themselves into a sweat through four fast ones, their heaving breath fogging even the highest windows in the living room. Kyle fell onto Stan with a tired moan, and Stan hugged him close, swaying to some old Fleetwood Mac song. He saw Bebe trying to pull Kenny into a slow dance, but he demurred, grabbed the thermos of punch she'd made for Butters and headed for the door. He waved to Stan, who just tipped his chin in recognition, his hands on Kyle's waist, pushed up under his t-shirt and stroking his sweat-slick skin. He scanned the other remaining dancers and withheld a snort of laughter when he saw Cartman and Wendy having what appeared to be a very serious moment, dancing with their eyes locked, Cartman hunched over almost to the point of being bent at the waist, his forehead pressed to hers. She looked tiny in his arms, and weirdly content as she ran her fingers through Cartman's hair, so absorbed in him that Stan actually felt a pang of ancient jealousy. Clyde and Token had disappeared, and based on the way Clyde had been rubbing himself all over Token during the faster songs, they were either fucking in some upstairs room or Token was keeping Clyde company while he threw up – maybe both. Craig and Tweek were kissing while they slow danced, both shirtless, Craig's tank top slung over his shoulder in a very guido-like way.

"Stan?" Kyle said, leaning up to whisper Stan's name into his ear like it was a secret.

"Hmm?"

"I – _ngh_. I need you, I think. I feel so – Jesus, dude, I'm – I want to go, I need to get fucked."

He was still whispering, though loudly, and Stan checked over his shoulders to see if anyone might have heard that, but they were all too preoccupied with each other. He looked down at Kyle and kissed his nose, nodding. Kyle looked almost upset, and he was trembling a little.

"We can go," Stan said. "Yeah – let's go."

He rescued the sunglasses from the back of the couch, knowing Kyle would want them later, and thanked Bebe for the party. She seemed depressed, drinking straight vodka at the kitchen table with Red. They waved to Stan and Kyle a little coldly, as if to accuse them of being too happy together and rubbing their faces in it.

Outside, Stan smelled cigarette smoke and saw a few of the Goths wallowing in their misery, muttering about how lame dancing was. He waved to Henrietta, who seemed taken off guard and didn't wave back. Kyle wasn't stumbling as much as Stan had feared he would, but he put a hand around Kyle's waist anyway, letting the Goths get a long look at why Stan didn't believe life to be worthless anymore. He had only ever thought so because he cared so much about what was real, and because he wanted to be happy so badly. He hoped at least Henrietta would understand that about herself someday. The other eyeliner-wearing fuckers could go to hell for all he cared.

"Stan," Kyle said, clinging to him while they walked, licking at his ear. "I don't – I don't think I can wait. Ungh, I feel, like, so empty, Jesus, I need you."

"Dude, we'll be home in five minutes," Stan said. He was walking slowly, something his persisting erection necessitated. Kyle was never like this, not even on the rare occasions when he actually drank. He never begged for it, and Stan had jacked off to the idea that he might a thousand times. It wasn't that he usually had to talk Kyle into sex, or that Kyle didn't get hard during Friday night movie time as easily and as often as Stan did. Kyle just liked to be chased, and was always trying to talk himself out of needing sex as much as he needed to _for_ _once_ actually _finish_ watching a movie, _Stan_.

"Nuh, I can't wait five minutes," Kyle said, tugging Stan into the side yard of someone's dark house – Mr. Mackey's, Stan thought, maybe. "I need it," Kyle said, falling against the side of the house and unbuttoning Stan's jeans. "Please, God, I'll die if you don't fuck me right now, Stanley, I'll fucking die."

He was whining, almost crying, and Stan was too drunk to properly deal with this. He hid Kyle's body with his own and looked at the street, but there was nothing going on, everybody in South Park at Bebe's party or in bed. Butters' bed, in Kenny's case.

"Ky – Kyle, c'mon, stop," Stan said, taking Kyle's hands and pulling them away when he'd gotten Stan's fly halfway unzipped. Kyle sobbed, shaking hard now. Stan was torn between concern and wanting to push Kyle down onto his hands and knees and give him what he was asking for right there on somebody's fucking lawn. "We have to wait, okay?" Stan said. "You're – you've had a little too much to drink, maybe. Don't you want to wait till we're in my bed, so we can go to sleep after?"

"No," Kyle said, shaking his head hard and grabbing Stan's dick. "Can't wait, I can't, I need – need you to fill me, oh, God, Stan, I need you in me, please, just let me suck you, I'll swallow your come, anything—"

"Fuck," Stan said. After a night of dry humping on Bebe's couch and grinding his half-hard dick against Kyle while they danced, he needed it, too. "Um, okay, just – you can— Jesus!"

Kyle was already on his knees, breathless as he pulled Stan's cock out through the slit in his boxers. He moaned at the sight of it – that had sure as shit never happened before – licked his lips and started slobbering up and down the shaft with open-mouthed kisses, still moaning a little.

"Kyle," Stan said, feeling like he could cry from how bad he wanted to come – all over Kyle's face, yeah, it would be – Kyle would forgive him –

When Kyle took him in wholly, Stan bit his lip hard to keep from unloading, his heart hammering as he checked the road again – still empty. He put both hands on Kyle's head and dug his fingers in between his carefully styled curls, wrecking them, wanting to fuck Kyle's face – no – he wanted to fuck his tight ass, right here, and he tasted blood as his tooth cut into his lip.

"God, it's not enough," Kyle said, panting and falling back against the side of the house again, still on his knees. "I need you in me, fuh-fucking me, stuffed up in my ass, God—" He was staring up at Stan, his mouth wet and swollen, all but clasping his hands together and begging to be fucked. Stan decided he wanted that.

"Say please," Stan said, already pushing his pants and underwear down enough to properly free his cock.

"Please," Kyle said brokenly, closing his eyes and pressing his face against Stan's thigh, holding his leg with both hands. "Please, Stan, _please_—"

It was slow going in, only spit for lube, Kyle pressed up against the side of the house and Stan snugged to his back, keeping watch, keeping him hidden. Once Stan was all in, Kyle finally went calm, moaning softly and slumping in Stan's arms. Stan licked Kyle's neck while he fucked him in shallow little snaps of his hips, so hot inside his clothes that he felt like the moon must be giving every exposed inch of his skin a burn that would last through winter. Kyle came first, in Stan's hand and against the side of the house, his head falling back onto Stan's shoulder while he pointed his panting mouth up at the sky.

"Here it comes," Stan whispered. "Here comes what you need, alright? You want all this in you? Hmm? Still want it up your ass?"

"Yuhhh," Kyle moaned in answer, nodding. "Put it – there, Stan, oh, _God_, I love you. Stay in me forever." He squeezed around Stan as he said this, as if to hold him in place. Stan shoved forward with a grunt, pumping out the orgasm that felt like it had been tickling under his balls since late afternoon. They both fell against the side of the house, which smelled like grass clippings and sunburned paint. Stan buried his face in Kyle's hair and tried to regain his breath.

"Shit," Stan said. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh," Kyle said. He grabbed Stan's hip when he started to pull out. "Not yet," he whispered.

"Kyle, dude, we should go – someone might see."

"Just one more minute, please? Stay in me, one more minute."

"You're crazy," Stan said, but he stayed for two more minutes, pushing his hand up under Kyle's shirt to stroke his belly while he breathed in gulps.

"Yeah," Kyle said, moaning like he was still getting off. When he seemed to be falling asleep against the side of the house, Stan pulled out carefully and helped Kyle refasten his pants before doing up his own. He pressed Kyle to the wall again and kissed him, smiling at his bleary, contented expression. Kyle had dirt on his cheek, and Stan wanted to lick it off. He did, the taste of it diffusing the romance of the moment somewhat, reminding him that they should get moving.

"Now I bet you wish we were in bed," Stan said, taking Kyle's hand and pulling him off the wall.

"No," Kyle said. He seemed less drunk than he had been before they fucked, and not even very tired. Stan had expected to need to carry him home. "That was perfect. Dude, really. Thank you."

Stan laughed and squeezed Kyle's hand. He'd never been thanked for sex before. Kyle was uncharacteristically quiet on the way home, kissing Stan's shoulder every few minutes.

"I can't believe it's October." This was the only thing Kyle said during the walk home. "What the hell is going on with this weather?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "It's freaky." The whole week had been unseasonably, almost unsettlingly warm. A belated cold front was supposed to blow in on Monday, and in the meantime Stan kept catching himself thinking that this felt like spring. He wished it was, because he was more than ready to be finished with high school and move on to CSU with Kyle. They already had an apartment picked out on Opal Street, and after getting Christmas and Hanukkah checks from their respective grandparents they would have the money saved for the down payment that was due in June. Stan would major in Music, play guitar at cheesy restaurants and coffee shops for cash, and maybe bartend if they needed the money. Kyle was going to do Pre-Med, and he probably wouldn't have to work; he'd applied for a scholarship that covered everything, even living expenses. They'd had it all planned out since freshman year, and they were so close that Stan felt panicked sometimes, not because he was nervous about leaving home, but because he was afraid some unforeseen complication would snatch him from his intended trajectory before he could blast off.

At home, Stan's parents were already asleep. Stan and Kyle slipped into Stan's room quietly, still holding hands. Kyle mumbled about wanting a shower, but he collapsed onto Stan's bed as soon as he'd undressed. Stan stripped down to his boxers and stretched out beside Kyle.

"You sore or anything?" Stan asked, cupping Kyle's ass.

"No," Kyle said. He wiggled closer to Stan, pressing his face to Stan's neck. "Maybe a little. Who cares."

"Um, me. I care, dude. I don't like fucking you without lube."

"You liked it."

"Well, _yeah_, but—"

"I'm fine," Kyle said, kissing his cheek. "It was adventure. Just shut up for a minute, please. I'm sleepy."

"Dude," Stan said, rolling toward him. "You totally blew your load on Mr. Mackey's house."

"I thought that was Craig's house," Kyle said, grinning, his eyes closed.

"Oh, Jesus. We'll do Craig's next."

"Kay."

Kyle fell asleep first, and Stan spent some time admiring him and smoothing down his curls, maybe as penance for fucking them up while Kyle sucked his dick. He fell asleep with his fingers still tangled in Kyle's hair and woke up at three in the morning with an arm cramp. He prodded Kyle until he rolled over, grumbling, and once Kyle had been comfortably spooned, Stan fell asleep again.

The cold front that had been promised arrived overnight, and Stan woke up shivering at dawn. Kyle was shivering, too, wearing one of Stan's t-shirts and his underwear. Stan yanked the blankets up over them, and Kyle rolled over to tuck himself to Stan's chest.

"Are you hungover?" Stan asked when he was unable to get back to sleep. Kyle was pretending to sleep, but he was obviously awake, tense and fidgety.

"I don't think so," Kyle said. "I feel – weird, though."

"Weird?"

"Maybe just because my butt cheeks are glued together. Fuck, and I have to piss like a race horse." He sat up and groaned, staring down at Stan with puffy eyes. "I get the bathroom first," he said, like it was something they shared, Kyle's as much as it was Stan's. Stan had always loved it when Kyle put his hands all over his shit, for reasons he couldn't really explain. He loved that Kyle kept a STAN SCHEDULE calendar on his phone, and that Stan's stuff had its own color coding system, pastels that corresponded to Kyle's neons.

Stan was able to sleep again while Kyle showered, and he woke when Kyle came back in, shivering inside Stan's robe, which was a relic from junior high and only came to Kyle's thighs. Kyle had a thing for Stan's old clothes, which fit him eerily well in most cases. He shed the robe and catapulted back into bed, squirming against Stan and moaning with pleasure at the warmth of him.

"It's fucking icy out there," Kyle said. "Your parents need to put the heat on."

"Go tell them," Stan said. He was joking, mostly. His parents knew that he fucked Kyle, though it had taken his mother a long time to accept this. Stan used to occasionally overhear his father trying to convince his mother that Stan and Kyle weren't just friends anymore, and hadn't been just friends since that time Randy caught them in the shower together when they were fourteen. Stan's mother had insisted that they were just unusually close, not because she didn't like the idea of Stan being romantic with Kyle in particular, but because she couldn't handle the idea of Stan being sexually corrupted by anyone, not even little Kyle. She sometimes gave Kyle long looks of warning now that she wasn't in denial anymore, but in general Kyle had free reign in the Marsh house, and nobody tried to stop them from locking Stan's bedroom door and spending conspicuously quiet hours behind it. Sheila Broflovski was more nosy, and was always crusading to interrupt them. Stan wasn't sure what the fuck she was so worried about. They'd never had any other sexual partners, and they couldn't get each other pregnant.

"I thought of something horrible when I was in the shower," Kyle said, grabbing Stan's forearm.

"Yeah?"

"If someone had caught us last night – Stan! You're eighteen now! You could have been arrested for fucking a minor."

"Only if your parents pressed charges," Stan said, because he'd done some research on this, post-birthday. Kyle's eyebrows shot up.

"So definitely, then!"

Stan rolled his eyes. "I really don't think they hate me that much, dude."

"Well, maybe not, but can't the state press charges or whatever? Plus, public sex! Indecent exposure! God, why did we do that?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "It was pretty firmly your idea."

"I felt crazy," Kyle said, frowning. "Like, not just drunk. I felt like I was going to go out of my mind if I couldn't, you know. Have you." He blushed, apparently back to being prudish about dirty talk.

"I guess it was the champagne," Stan said. "But, look. If you're worried about me getting arrested for perving on an innocent youth like yourself, we won't do that again."

"It was pretty good, though," Kyle said, blushing harder. Stan grinned, and Kyle kissed the smugness off his mouth.

The rest of the day passed as Saturdays usually did: Stan tooled around on his guitar while Kyle did research for some school project, nagging Stan with reminders that he would have to start working on his own project soon if he wanted to get it finished in time. Stan promised to start tomorrow, put the guitar away and fucked Kyle again, with extra lube this time. Afterward, Kyle slept until dinner, which was the only sign that anything might be awry.

At school on Monday, Kyle's Friday night hangover seemed to have belatedly arrived. He was tired and complaining of a stomach ache, disinterested in food. Stan figured something was probably going around, because Cartman was absent on Tuesday, Craig was unapologetically sleeping through History, Clyde looked like shit and Butters was especially pale by lunchtime on Wednesday.

"You must have what I have," Kyle said to Butters, pushing his lunch tray away. "God, I feel like I'm going to puke."

"Me, too," Butters said, and they both clutched at their stomachs. Stan rubbed Kyle's back, and Kenny hooked an arm around Butters' shoulders.

"Don't you want to go to the doctor?" Stan said to Kyle. "It's been three days now."

"I'm fine," Kyle said, muttering. He had a general opposition to doctors, and to letting his mother know how sick he was feeling, after a childhood full of illness and hospitalization. He'd been relatively stable for the past five years, and this was a point of pride for him.

"How 'bout you?" Kenny asked, tugging on Butters' ear. "Need a checkup?"

"Oh, heck no," Butters said, though he was swaying as he said so, looking deliriously feverish. He had other reasons for hating doctors, apparently. It was something Kenny refused to tell Stan about, to the point that Stan had gotten the impression that something truly nefarious had happened to Butters' in a doctor's office.

By Halloween, Kyle was out of school, home sick with flu-like symptoms. Stan went over to Kyle's house every day after school, ignoring his mother's warnings about getting sick himself. He actually hoped that he would, as if the illness was something he could take on in order to relieve Kyle of its burden.

It didn't happen that way. Stan just laid there staring into Kyle's gummy eyes until Sheila came in and announced that Kyle was going to the doctor. She held out his coat, and Stan helped Kyle thread his arms through the sleeves, because by then he was trembling, delirious, barely standing. Over Kyle's shoulder, Stan met Sheila's eyes. He'd never thought he would find himself buying into anything Sheila had planned for Kyle, who was so obviously _Stan's_, not hers. Despite this, in the moment, it was clear. They were both deeply worried.

They both had the innate sense, though they did not discuss it on the way to the doctor's office, that something was about to go very wrong.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N**: This chapter is longer and more fully Stan/Kyle-focused than the others are likely to be - I didn't want to skimp on the initial reactions. More ensemble-type stuff to come in the next chapter. Thanks so much to all who are reading!

* * *

><p>Kyle's family doctor sent him to a specialist, who then sent him to another specialist. The second one was at the city hospital in Denver, so Stan and Kyle spent the start of Halloween night in the backseat of Sheila's car, which was sitting in traffic on the highway. Kyle was drowsy and weak, sleeping with his head on Stan's shoulder and waking with a moan whenever Sheila braked too hard or started cursing other drivers in Yiddish.<p>

"We're missing Wendy's costume party," Kyle said when they were close to the city, the sun disappearing in a reddish blaze that made the thready clouds in the sky look sinister.

"I don't know if she's even still having it," Stan said. "Everyone's been sick. Cartman's missed the whole week at school. I wonder if he has what you have?"

"He probably gave this to me on purpose," Kyle said. He was sweaty and pale, nudging Stan's neck with his nose as if to ask for comfort. It was distressing, being unable to fix him, and Stan did what he could, keeping his arm around Kyle and stroking his cheek.

"We're almost there, bubbeh," Sheila announced, though this was obvious, the hospital visible from the highway, just two in-town exits away. "Dr. Goger was sure this doctor will be able to help you. You're going to feel all better very soon!" Sheila sounded like she was speaking to a five year old, and had seemed increasingly unraveled throughout the day. Stan was starting to feel panicked, too, wondering what the hell could be wrong with Kyle that two doctors couldn't diagnose and wouldn't even speculate about when Sheila grilled them. Stan had seen Kyle on the brink of death twice as a kid, and he'd spent the entire day putting all of his energy into refusing to believe that he might see it again. He had no appetite, though his stomach was growling with emptiness.

The hospital was busy with holiday-related injuries, kids who were already puking from too much candy and adults who'd injured themselves while carving jack-o-lanterns. Kyle spent thirty minutes in the waiting room, his head on Stan's shoulder, one hand clasped between both of Sheila's. He was listless by the time they called his name, half asleep, and Stan had to help him get up.

"I'll take it from here, Stanley," Sheila said, almost angrily. She put her arm around Kyle's shoulders and walked him over to the nurse who waited with a clipboard. Stan sat down again, feeling robbed. He hadn't been allowed to go back with them at the last two places, either.

They were gone for three hours, and by the time Sheila emerged, Stan was going nuts with worry, his foot bouncing wildly against the floor. He sprang out of his seat, relieved that Sheila looked pissed off and not devastated.

"Where's Kyle?" Stan asked, hurrying to her.

"He's back with the doctor," Sheila said. Stan was too frantic with concern for Kyle to be very worried about the vicious look on Sheila's face, but it was still alarming.

"Did they figure out why he's sick?" Stan asked.

"They say they have," Sheila said, huffing. "But I can't – ah, just come with me. They want to ask you some questions."

"Me? Questions about what?"

"Just come with me!" Sheila said, loudly enough that several passing nurses stopped to stare. Sheila groaned and shook her head, glaring at Stan. "My poor baby!" she said, suddenly emotional, and she waved her hands about a bit. "Just – come with me, Stanley, right now!"

"What do they think is wrong?" Stan asked. He became aware of how hard his heart was hammering as he followed Sheila down the crowded emergency room hallway, and it made him feel sick, shaking his stomach into a hollow nausea.

"You'll hear it for yourself in a minute," Sheila said.

"Is he really sick?" Stan asked, his voice beginning to shake. "I mean, I know he is, but he's going to get better, right?"

"I don't know," Sheila said. "I don't know what the hell is going on!"

Stan had started crying by the time they got to the office where Kyle was seated in front of a doctor's large, wooden desk. It seemed much nicer than the other offices they had passed, and there were three people standing behind it, one seated. Kyle was sitting across from the desk, and he seemed more alert than he had in the waiting room, sitting up straight, but his eyes were wide and vacant, unseeing. He looked like he was in shock, still very pale.

"Dude," Stan said, dropping down onto his knees in front of Kyle. "What?" He was crying hard by the time Kyle finally met his eyes, his expression unchanged. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"It's impossible," Kyle said, stiffening when Stan reached for his hand. "It's not – it can't—"

"What?" Stan said, he whirled to look at the doctors, whose expressions were mask-like. They were all male and old, wearing white coats. "What's going on?" Stan asked, raising his voice in the face of their stony demeanor.

"Son," the seated doctor said. He was the oldest, and there was a placard that said 'CHIEF OF STAFF' on his desk. "I need you to tell us everything you can about the sexual intercourse you had with Mr. Broflovski on the twenty-third of October."

Stan felt the blood drain from his face. He looked at Kyle, who leaned forward and hid his face in his hands, then looked at Sheila. She still looked like she was plotting Stan's murder.

"Am I under arrest?" Stan asked, the rest of his body starting to shake as badly as his voice was.

"You might be!" Sheila said.

"Mrs. Broflovski, please," the head doctor said, lifting his hand. "Stan – that's your name, Stan?"

"Yes," Stan said. "What's going on? What's – did I hurt him?" Stan choked out a sob after asking, and Kyle lifted his face.

"How did you do this?" Kyle asked, and he sounded so betrayed that Stan thought he would throw up. "How could this happen?"

"I don't know, fuck, what – I'm so sorry—"

"Why don't you have a seat, Stan?" the head doctor said.

"No," Stan cried, putting his forehead on Kyle's knee. "Oh, Jesus, I'm so sorry, what did I do? What did I do?"

"I can't say it," Kyle said, lifting his face to look at the doctors. "Mom, Dr. Vesta – somebody tell him."

"You got my son pregnant, you delinquent!" Sheila said, shouting. "What is wrong with you? How could you – how could this happen, Stanley? How?"

"Way – wha—" Stan turned to Kyle, gaping at him. Kyle's lip shook, and he pinched his eyes shut as if he couldn't bear to look at Stan.

"It's true, I'm afraid," the head doctor said. "I've never seen anything like it, but our tests are conclusive. Kyle has a sort of – free floating womb that we can't explain. His medical history shows no indication that this organ was present before now. It's connected only to life supporting organs – nothing reproductive. And there appears to be a week old embryo that's, ah, being supported by the womb environment." Dr. Vesta took his glasses off and cleaned them. "Everyone here on my team confirms my findings. It's quite extraordinary."

"It's a nightmare!" Sheila said. "He's a boy! This can't happen! _A_ _khorbn_! Stanley, you explain this right now, young man!"

"I—" Stan couldn't make his brain process anything other than confusion and relief. "So Kyle's not going to die?"

"We really can't say what will happen," Dr. Vesta said. "It's the first case of male pregnancy that I've ever seen personally – you're from South Park, too, Stanley?"

"Yes," Stan said. The doctors behind Dr. Vesta exchanged glances. "What's South Park got to do with anything?"

"There are rumors that a doctor there recently documented a case – we thought it was madness, just some country doctor trying to get in the papers, but, well. Please tell us about your intercourse on the night of October twenty-third, Stan. We've determined that as the date of conception – did anything unusual happen?"

His world tipped sideways, Stan could hardly hear what he was being asked. He looked up at Kyle, who now just looked exhausted and sad. He was sniffling, staring down at Stan as if he was waiting for him to speak.

"Hasn't Kyle told you?" Stan asked, questions beginning to stack up at the back of his brain, things he would have to deal with when his shock receded, though he couldn't imagine ever recovering from this profound bewilderment.

"Kyle's been too upset to give us a proper accounting," Dr. Vesta said.

"Dude," Stan said, looking up at Kyle again. Kyle took a deep breath and let it out, wiping his eyes with a crumpled tissue. He used it to wipe Stan's cheeks, too, then the corners of Stan's eyes.

"Go ahead, Stanley!" Sheila said. "Kyle's been through enough today, he can hardly get two words out. And who could blame him!"

"Might Mrs. Broflovski want to be out of the room when we hear this accounting?" one of the standing doctors said, somewhat tightly. Sheila glowered at him.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm not leaving my little bubbeleh's side until we have all of this sorted out!" She went to Kyle and knelt down in front of him, edging Stan out of the way. "There, there, Kyle," she said, patting his knee. "Mommy's here."

"Mom," Kyle said. "Maybe – if Stan's gonna talk about that night. Maybe you should wait outside."

"My God, was it really that shocking?" She glared at Stan. "I know what anal sex is, boys."

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle said, wincing. "Mom, please, just wait outside."

"If that's what you want," Sheila said grumpily. She gave Stan one more hateful look before leaving.

"Have a seat, Stanley," Dr. Vesta said, gesturing to the chair beside Kyle's. Stan rose on shaking legs, wishing that he could talk to Kyle alone for a minute.

"Is this really happening?" Stan asked, feeling small and guilty when the four doctors stared at him.

"It seems so," Dr. Vesta said. "I'm hoping you can help us understand how by telling us more about the night of conception. Kyle mentioned that you were both drinking?"

"Yeah," Stan said, wondering if they would get in trouble for that. He supposed they had bigger fish to fry, though he still couldn't even begin to get his mind around the idea that Kyle could be carrying his child. "We were drinking, um. I had vodka and Kyle had this champagne punch stuff that Bebe made. We weren't drinking, like. Magic potion or anything. Jesus, how could this happen?" He looked over at Kyle and grabbed his wrist. Kyle gave him a vacant stare, shaking his head slowly.

"Alright," Dr. Vesta said, picking up a pen and drawing a notepad toward him. "Would you say that you were both drunk?"

"A little," Stan said. "But we weren't driving!"

"Oh my God," Kyle muttered, covering his face with his hand.

"Well – we weren't! And Kyle, um. He really wanted." Stan looked at Kyle again. "Dude, are you okay with me saying this?" he asked, lowering his voice. Kyle groaned.

"No," he said. "I'm not okay with any of this."

"Boys, this might help us understand how a pregnancy became possible," Dr. Vesta said.

"It's for the sake of your baby," one of the other doctors said. "There's a chance that it could actually survive."

"Only a chance?" Stan said, his hand tightening around Kyle's wrist. Kyle scoffed and ripped his hand away.

"No, there's no chance," Kyle said. "I'm not actually going to _have_ this thing."

"Normally you would have the option to terminate," Dr. Vesta said, glancing at his colleagues nervously. "As in, if you were a woman – but Kyle, we don't know enough about this to perform that sort of surgery in good faith. The womb is connected to your heart and lungs, and you've already had a major operation as a boy. I'm not sure you would survive an – abortive type procedure."

"I don't care!" Kyle said. "I can't – I mean, what, I'm going to get a big stomach and – and push the baby out of my ass or something?" He was becoming hysterical, starting to cry.

"Well, we would perform a C-section, unless you develop another way to give birth."

"And that wouldn't kill me?" Kyle asked. Stan grabbed for his hand again, and Kyle let him hold it.

"Frankly, we don't know," Dr. Vesta said. "We really don't know much at all at this stage. Stan, could you continue describing the events of that night?"

Stan looked at Kyle, who rolled his eyes and patted them dry with the tissue.

"Just tell them," Kyle said. "So they'll let me leave. I just want to go home, Stan."

"Oh – Kyle," Stan started to rise from his chair to hug Kyle, but he felt the stares of the doctors and sat back down. He squeezed Kyle's hand, and Kyle sniffled, squeezing back.

"Go ahead, Stanley," Dr. Vesta said. "Tell us everything. You never know what might be relevant."

"Kyle really wanted to have sex," Stan blurted out. He checked Kyle's face to make sure he was okay with Stan saying this, but Kyle had leaned over to cover his eyes with his hand again. He was still squeezing Stan's fingers with his other hand, so Stan continued. "Like, really. He wasn't acting like himself. I figured he was just drunk, and I was drunk, too, so. We did it."

"What do you mean, he wasn't acting like himself?" Dr. Vesta asked, jotting notes.

"He doesn't normally beg for it like that," Stan said, his jaw tight. "It was almost like someone had drugged him. Oh, God – do you think someone put something in the punch at the party?" He was speaking to Kyle, who didn't lift his face.

"Did you drink the punch, too?" one of the other doctors asked Stan. He shook his head.

"I don't like champagne," he said, feeling crazy. He wanted to take Kyle away, to get him into a bed and hold him under some blankets. Everything would be okay, he felt, as long as he could do that soon.

"So you were at the party and Kyle was begging for intercourse?" Dr. Vesta said. Stan glared at him.

"No. We were walking home. And we did it outside. Standing up," he added, his voice getting quiet and mumbling. Kyle was hunched over completely now, his forehead resting on his knees.

"Standing up," one of the doctors said thoughtfully, as if this meant something.

After an excruciating ten minutes of questioning – _Did Kyle ejaculate? Was there tearing or blood? So you used only saliva for lubrication?_ – Sheila was allowed back into the room. The doctors explained that they would be sending a member of the team to South Park to monitor Kyle closely during the pregnancy. Kyle would be examined daily, for his own safety. They gave him a supply of vitamins and instructed him to stay well-hydrated, avoid alcohol and caffeine, and get plenty to eat.

"His nausea during the week was probably due to the formation of the womb," Dr. Vesta said as they were preparing to leave, Kyle silent and stone-faced, still holding Stan's hand. "Hopefully that will lessen now that it seems to be fully formed. It's a perfectly healthy womb," he added, sounding surprised to hear himself say so.

"What about this other male pregnancy in South Park?" Sheila asked. "Who else is claiming to, ah. Have the condition?"

"We don't know," Dr. Vesta said. "But we'll certainly look into it and compare notes with the doctor who diagnosed it. If it's legitimate, I suspect it's related to Kyle's."

On the way out of the hospital, Kyle and Stan were both silent, and Sheila stomped ahead of them, muttering to herself about how this was just the kind of thing that would happen to her, and how was she going to tell her parents that their grandson was pregnant, and what sort of example was this for Ike? Stan sort of wanted to kick her, but he resisted.

"I have half a mind to leave you here and have you call your parents to come get you, Stanley," Sheila said as she unlocked the car. The parking garage was freezing and deserted; it was almost eleven o'clock at night.

"Mom, no," Kyle said. "Quit being cruel to Stan. He didn't do this on purpose."

"I really didn't," Stan said. Sheila rolled her eyes.

"Well, of course not. You boys, you just – you shouldn't be having sex! I knew something bad would come of it from the moment I realized it was happening!"

"When was that moment, exactly?" Kyle asked flatly. None of them were getting into the unlocked car, despite the icy temperature, maybe because as soon as they drove away they would start to have to deal with the reality of what the doctors had just told them.

"I'll tell you when!" Sheila said, trembling with rage. "It was when you were fifteen – fif_teen_! – and I came downstairs to adjust the thermostat and saw this one—" She gestured to Stan, "—on top of you on the couch, half naked, completely shameless, right there in my own house! I should have put a stop to it right then, but I was so upset I couldn't even think!"

"Oh, Christ," Kyle said, and he got into the car. Stan hurried in after him, avoiding Sheila's angry stare. He remembered that night, pausing in his ramming of Kyle because he thought he'd heard someone on the stairs. They weren't in the habit of fucking in places where they ran a high risk of being discovered, but Kyle had been driving Stan out of his mind that night, teasing Stan's cock through his jeans while they watched some inane TV show, whispering _not_ _yet_ every time Stan begged to go up to his bedroom. Kyle had done it on purpose, but Stan forgave him by the end, because they had some fucking amazing sex after he lost his patience and tackled Kyle right there on the couch. They used melted ice cream for lube and made a terrible mess, later claiming that it had just dripped out of their bowls while they ate it.

On the drive home, everyone was silent, and Sheila didn't turn on the radio. In the backseat, Kyle put his head on Stan's chest and was quickly asleep in Stan's arms, Stan's coat draped around his shoulders. Stan wanted to sleep, too. He was exhausted, starving, and heartsick with guilt. He rested his cheek on top of Kyle's head and closed his eyes, but he was too anxious to sleep. The words _free_ _floating_ _womb _and _abortive_ _type_ _procedure_ were knocking around in his head, merging evilly with the fact that no one – not even Sheila – had confidently told him that Kyle was going to be okay now that they'd discovered the source of his illness.

Around midnight, they were almost back in South Park when Stan's phone buzzed. He planned on ignoring it, like he'd ignored the messages from Kenny and Wendy while he waited for news about Kyle, but he realized it was probably his mother and dug the phone out of his coat pocket carefully, not wanting to wake Kyle. He was glad that his mother had sent a text message in lieu of calling; he never could have spoken to her without crying, and he wasn't ready to tell her about anything yet.

_Staying_ _at_ _Kyle's_ _tonight?_ her text asked. Stan typed a response, kissing Kyle's forehead when he moaned in complaint at the slight shifting of his human pillow.

_yes_, Stan sent back. _sorry_ _I_ _almost_ _forgot_ _to_ _tell_ _you_

_Kyle must be feeling better, then?_ his mother sent.

_a_ _little,_ Stan returned, because Kyle had seemed less delirious than he had all week when they were in the doctor's office, and he was sleeping soundly now.

_That's good. I know you were worried. Give him my love. Goodnight sweetheart_

Stan's eyes got wet, and he put the phone away, burying his face in Kyle's curls again. More than anyone in the world, his mother had always trusted him, and the real reason she'd taken so long to accept that Stan was romantically involved with Kyle was her belief that Stan would have come to her at the start and told her that the shower Randy caught them taking together wasn't purely for convenience purposes. Stan had a hard time coming out to her not because he was afraid of rejection but because he wanted her to keep seeing him as the innocent little boy who threw up on himself at the thought of kissing someone. He imagined her asking all of the same questions that the doctors had, though he knew that she wouldn't: _No lubrication? Up against the side of a house? Whose house, Stanley? Did you consider that poor Mr. Mackey might not have been thrilled to wake up on a Saturday morning and go out to fertilize his begonias only to discover your boyfriend's come splattered against his vinyl siding? Well, Stanley, did you?_ Of course, they had bigger problems now. Stan kept telling himself that, and kept failing to get his head around it: best case scenario, this ended with a baby.

"Oh – Mrs. Broflovski, I thought maybe I'd spend the night with Kyle," Stan said when he realized that she was driving toward his house.

"Ha! I don't think so, Stanley. Kyle needs to be with his family right now."

"No, Mom," Kyle said, lifting his head and blinking at her groggily, clearly not sleeping as deeply as he'd seemed to be. "Please, I need Stan. I'm scared, Mom," he said, clutching at Stan, who squeezed Kyle closer. "I won't be able to sleep if he's not there."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sheila said, beginning to sound like she might cry. "Don't you know that your family will protect you? We can keep you safe, bubbeh. He's the one who got you into this mess. He's ruined your life, Kyle!"

"I'm sorry," Stan said, and he burst into tears.

"Mom, he loves me!" Kyle said, beginning to sound angry. Sheila moaned and did a u-turn, headed back toward the Broflovski house.

"Fine, boys," she said. "I'm just so frightened for both of you. I don't even know how I'm going to tell your father, Kyle!"

"Just tell him that his freak son is going to be bringing a freak baby into the world, against his will," Kyle said, petting Stan, who shook his head.

"Don't say that," Stan said, and he started sobbing harder, feeling wretched, like his insides were full of sharp sticks that were trying to break free of him.

"Dude, shh," Kyle said, and he pulled Stan down to hide him against his chest. "It's okay, Jesus. I'm the one with a floating womb."

"Kyle," Stan said brokenly, taking a handful of Kyle's jacket, but it was actually Stan's, and Stan inadvertently pulled it off of him.

"Everybody calm down," Sheila said, and she sniffled. "We all just need some hot tea and – oh, God, something to eat. Kyle, you haven't eaten all day!"

"Neither has Stan," Kyle said, petting Stan's hair while he continued to cry.

At the Broflovski family house, Gerald met them at the door, and Sheila told him not to ask any questions until they'd all calmed down and gotten something on their stomachs. Ike was sitting at the top of the stairs, and he looked terrified when Sheila told him to get to bed, that they would have a family meeting in the morning.

"Is Kyle going to die?" Ike asked, standing up and making his hands into fists, as if he was ready to rebel against this information if necessary.

"No, honey," Sheila said. "Just – just go to bed, Ike, we'll talk in the morning."

"You treat me like a baby!" Ike said, shouting. "I'm eleven, goddammit, and I'm single-handedly developing an alternative fuel that's going to save the American middle class!" He ran down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that was appropriately absurd," Kyle muttered. He went into the kitchen and sat down heavily in a dining room chair, resting his elbows on the table. Stan draped his coat around Kyle's shoulders again and tried not to eavesdrop on the hissed conversation Sheila and Gerald were having in the living room.

"What do you want to eat?" Stan asked, going to the fridge. He was so hungry that the thought of food actually made him feel nauseous, but pretty much everything was making him feel nauseous at the moment.

"Nothing," Kyle said. He folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them. "What do you think – feed a fever, starve a floating womb? It's worth a shot. Maybe this thing would just eject itself if I didn't feed it."

Stan closed the fridge and went over to hug Kyle from behind, resting his face against the back of Kyle's neck. He was clammy and shivering.

"You have to eat something," Stan said, surprised by how bothered he was by the idea of this baby being ejected. "Some crackers and ginger ale, at least."

"Oh, God," Kyle said, lifting his face to give Stan a long, miserable look. "I actually want. A cheeseburger. I'm fucking starved, Stan."

"I know," Stan said, sweeping Kyle's curls off his forehead. "You've barely eaten anything all week."

"Well, Kyle," Gerald said, walking into the kitchen, looking slightly green. "Your mother seems to think this is a legitimate diagnosis."

Sheila walked in behind him, and for a while no one said anything, Kyle hunched miserably at the table and everyone staring at him.

"Kyle wants a cheeseburger," Stan blurted. "Can I go get him one? Burger King should still be open."

"I want a Big Mac," Kyle said, mumbling as if he hated to admit this. Stan nodded furiously.

"I think that's a good idea, Stanley," Sheila said. "It will give us a chance to talk to Kyle alone for a moment. Get something for yourself, too, and a grilled chicken sandwich for me. Oh, to hell with it, get me a fried one. And a strawberry milkshake."

"And an Oreo McFlurry," Kyle said, and Stan was enormously cheered by this, still nodding.

"Excellent," Stan said. "Um, Mr. B, you want anything?"

"I just want you to get the hell out of my sight for a minute, Stanley, please," Gerald said tightly, and Stan was still nodding as he jogged out of the room. He could hear Kyle snapping at his father for speaking that way to Stan, but Stan was actually relieved to have a moment to escape the stares of Kyle's parents, and heartened by the return of Kyle's appetite.

While he was waiting in line for his order, the drive-thru surprisingly crowded for midnight on Halloween, Stan checked the messages from Kenny and Wendy that he'd only glanced at in the hospital waiting room. Wendy's text announced the cancellation of her party, since everybody was sick, and Stan's stomach twisted up as he wondered which of those illnesses might be the other male pregnancy that had been detected in South Park. Kenny's message asked Stan if he wanted to hang out.

_tried to go to butters but they finally barred the windows dude :(_

Stan didn't respond to either message. He paid for the food and brought it back to Kyle's house, approaching the kitchen cautiously after letting himself in. Sheila and Gerald were at the kitchen table, speaking softly to each other, holding hands across the table. The absence of Kyle made Stan feel panicked, and he regretted leaving him alone for even ten minutes, as if they'd gotten rid of him or something.

"Oh, thank you, Stanley," Sheila said, rising to take the bags of food and cup holder. "Kyle went up to bed. I'm afraid he got sick again after he tried to eat some crackers. I'll just put this in the fridge for him," she said. "He can come down and have it if he gets his appetite back."

"Okay," Stan said, depressed by the fact that he couldn't feed Kyle. He took the cheeseburger he'd ordered for himself and a handful of flimsy yellow napkins. "I'm gonna go up and sit with him," he said, chancing a glance at Gerald.

"You do that," Gerald said, nodding to himself tiredly. "He'd like that."

Upstairs, he found Kyle in bed, a shivering lump under the blankets. Stan put his burger on the bedside table and draped himself over Kyle, resting his chin on Kyle's shoulder.

"You okay?" Stan asked, though he knew Kyle wasn't.

"I threw up again," Kyle said.

"Yeah, your mom told me. Is it gonna make you sick if I eat my burger up here?"

"No," Kyle said, and he rolled onto his back. "That smells really good, actually," he said, eying it.

"You want a bite?" Stan unwrapped the burger and Kyle sat up, staring at it with a combination of longing and distress that almost made Stan want to laugh. He took a bite himself before offering it to Kyle. Stan grinned when Kyle leaned forward to have a bite without taking it from Stan's hand.

"Oh my God," Kyle said, chewing. "That's so fucking good."

"Here, dude, have some more."

"But it's your dinner."

"I can go get your Big Mac. Just take little bites, okay? Eat slowly."

Kyle kept his hands in his lap while he ate, his arms covered by blankets, and with Stan modulating the rate of Kyle's bites, he was able to eat more than half of the burger without getting sick. Stan kissed Kyle's ketchup and pickle flavored lips when the burger was gone, and went downstairs to get the Big Mac for himself. Sheila and Gerald had gone up to bed, and the kitchen was dark. Stan devoured the Big Mac over the sink, not bothering to put a light on.

Upstairs, he was glad to find no evidence that Kyle had puked. Kyle was lying on his side, facing the door, and he stretched out an arm for Stan as Stan toed off his boots. They said nothing until Stan was undressed and holding Kyle in his arms, their noses touching on the pillow.

"It was awful," Kyle said. "All the tests. So fucking humiliating. And now I have to see a doctor every day."

"It's good, though," Stan said, smoothing Kyle's hair, which was matted and greasy, badly in need of a washing. "They'll help keep you healthy. I seriously thought – I was so scared, dude. I thought they were going to tell me that you were going to die."

"How is that any worse than what they did tell you?"

"Dude, no."

"At least I would have died like a man," Kyle said. "This is unconscionable, Stan. I won't have it. And I mean that literally."

"Kyle—"

"I'll find some doctor who's willing to cut it out of me. I'll take my chances."

"No, please," Stan said, moving closer, shutting his eyes against Kyle's cheek. "It's too risky. I can't lose you, please."

"Don't get all worked up again." Kyle kissed Stan's face until his eyes fluttered open. "They said I'd better not have sex," Kyle whispered. "In case, you know. It generated another womb."

"You could fuck me," Stan offered, though he was way too tired and overwhelmed for anything more than dozy kissing. Kyle snorted.

"Yeah, great," he said. "Then we'll both end up with floating wombs."

"Quit calling it that."

"Why? What the fuck should I call it?"

"I don't know. A baby?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It's an abomination of nature," he said. "Not a baby."

"Shut up, you don't know that."

"Oh, my God!" Kyle sat up on his elbow, gaping at Stan. "You know, stopping me from killing spiders is one thing, but this is too fucking much. You have, like, sympathy for this thing!"

"Well, yeah!" Stan sat up, too. "I mean, it's our baby, Kyle. When you really think about it," he added more bashfully, sinking back down to the pillow. "That's what they were telling us. The night of conception, and all that. Me and you, we made this thing."

"This thing, precisely," Kyle said. He moaned and scooted down to put his face against Stan's chest. "I'm so fucking scared, dude. I'm not kidding. This is like. Alien possession or something. What if we got abducted and we don't remember it?"

"I don't think that happened."

"Well, then what the fuck did happen, Stan?"

"I don't know! Maybe just don't think about it. Try to sleep, and in the morning we can talk to the doctors, find out if they figured out who else in South Park is claiming to have this and if it's real."

"Who do you think it is?" Kyle asked, lifting his face.

"Fuck, I don't know." Stan swallowed heavily. "Cartman's been out sick since the party."

"Oh, Jesus Christ! And who ass fucked Cartman up against the side of the neighbor's house? Wendy?"

Stan actually managed to laugh at that, and soon they were both laughing deliriously, as if this was just another slumber party and they were playing a game that would be forgotten in the morning.

They slept late, tossing and turning as the dawn started to come through the window, rolling over and readjusting. They'd been sleeping together for so long that keeping their arms around each other during actual slumber had lost some of its novelty, and they usually moved apart after falling asleep in the initial cuddling stage and waking up uncomfortable. Now they both refused to disconnect. Stan was too tired to need to be perfectly arranged into any particular sleeping position, and when he woke up it was to nosefuls of Kyle's curls or the feeling of Kyle drooling on his neck. A little before noon, Kyle's mother came knocking.

"Boys?" she said, the door creaking open with an obnoxious, dissonant sound that matched the irritating tone of her voice. "Are you still asleep?" she asked, though they clearly were, for all intents and purposes, wrapped up together under the blankets, eyes closed.

"Mom, God," Kyle moaned when she started moving around the room, picking up Stan's discarded clothing. "What are you doing?"

"Dr. Terrell is downstairs, honey," Sheila said.

"Who the fuck is Dr. Terrell?"

"Kyle! I know you're upset, but that doesn't mean you can speak to your mother however you like! It's not my fault this is happening to you, is it? Dr. Terrell is Dr. Vesta's colleague, and he's going to be your obsta- well, your primary care physician during the, ah. Gestation."

"It's actually less disturbing if you call it a pregnancy, thanks," Kyle said, sitting up. Stan wasn't ready to sit up, still so tired, and content only to lie with Kyle in the dark, not to begin dealing with what was happening to them. He sat up anyway, yawning, and slid his arm around Kyle's waist.

"Can I be with him during his appointment?" Stan asked. "Since I'm the father?"

"I'm the father," Kyle said, frowning.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Maybe eventually, Stanley," Sheila said. "But for now, I think you need to go home and let your parents know what's going on."

"Oh." Stan had almost forgotten that he needed to do that. He looked at Kyle, who gave him a sympathetic kiss at the corner of his lips.

"It'll be okay," Kyle said.

"Are you sure?" Stan asked, whispering while Sheila continued to neaten Kyle's already very neat room. "I mean, I at least want to meet this guy. If he's going to be taking care of you."

"You're sweet," Kyle said. "God, Stan, you're so—" He moaned and put his head on Stan's shoulder. "Alright. Let's get dressed and go meet this fucker."

"Kyle!" Sheila said, apparently eavesdropping.

Dr. Terrell was younger than Dr. Vesta, but not very. He had a mop of grayish blond hair and glasses that were neither fashionable nor particularly dorky. They just seemed like part of his face.

"It's thrilling to meet you both," Dr. Terrell said as Kyle and Stan came to the bottom of the stairs, Stan in his clothes from yesterday and Kyle wearing a thermal shirt, sweatpants, and his "lucky socks," a pair of faded green ones that had been patched on the heel and toe. They were considered lucky because he was wearing them the first time Stan kissed him.

"I know you must be very nervous and have a lot of questions," Terrell said when Stan and Kyle just stood there, both of them still groggy and tired. "I have a lot of questions myself at this stage. But I want you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to encourage a viable pregnancy."

"Doctor, is there really no chance of, ah, having this taken care of?" Sheila asked. Gerald was in the living room, too, looking as if he hadn't slept well.

"The risk to Kyle's health would really be much too high for me to recommend that in good conscience, especially at such an early stage," Dr. Terrell said. "We need to find out more about how this womb is functioning along with Kyle's vital organs before we could even think about termination. If I determine at any point that the pregnancy is a greater risk to Kyle's health than surgically removing the womb, I would absolutely recommend the latter, but at this point I'm confident that we're safer leaving it, um. In there."

"Oh, God," Kyle said, grabbing for Stan's hand. "I need to sit."

They all sat, and Terrell did a lot more talking, asking many of the same questions that Stan had answered the night before. It was easier for Stan to field them while sitting with Kyle on the familiar old Broflovski couch, on the cushions that they had once desecrated with melted ice cream and sex. Stan kept his arm around Kyle and tried to pay attention to what Dr. Terrell was saying, but he couldn't stop thinking about how the hell he was going to tell his parents all of this when he got home.

"I'm going to send you to Dr. Winters over at South Park OBGYN for your regular labs," Terrell said to Kyle, who just nodded glumly like he had in response to everything else. "She's a great doctor, and she's like me, she specializes in rare and at risk pregnancies."

"Have you ever seen one like mine before?" Kyle asked, and Terrell shook his head.

"Never in a boy who has always been a boy," he said.

"We heard there was another case in South Park," Sheila said. "Have you heard any more about that?"

"I have a meeting with the physician who made that diagnosis this afternoon," Terrell said. "He's now claiming that he's seen a second case."

"A second case?" Kyle said. "Making me what? One of three?" He boggled at Stan, who couldn't decide if this was a relief, because they weren't alone, or more distressing, because obviously something was happening to the boys of South Park.

"One of three, yes," Terrell said. "If these other diagnoses are legitimate."

"Oy, this is too much!" Sheila said, standing. "Three? Doctor, what could be going on?"

"They're not spontaneously transforming into girls, are they?" Gerald asked.

"Dad!" Kyle said.

"Well, Kyle, I don't know what else to think!"

Stan suddenly felt nervous about Kyle's dick, and wanted to make sure it was working properly. He eyed the bulge in Kyle's sweatpants just to make sure it was still there.

"I don't think that's the case," Terrell said. "At least not with Kyle. Dr. Vesta told me that all of Kyle's male reproductive organs are still present and functional."

"They did tests on your dick?" Stan asked, horrified.

"Did I not say it was humiliating?" Kyle said, and Stan held him tighter, feeling violated himself.

"So I guess I wasn't invited to the family meeting," Ike said, appearing at the top of the stairs. "Since I'm not genetically part of the family."

"Ike, don't be crazy!" Sheila said. "I wanted to let you sleep-"

"What's going on?" Ike asked, grabbing the railing on the landing and peering down at them like he was about to let loose a tirade about how they'd betrayed him. "Who is that man? Why is Kyle still in pajamas? He's dying, isn't he?"

"No, Ike, I'm not dying," Kyle said. "At least, probably not."

"Dude!" Stan said, grabbing Kyle's knee.

"Does he have cancer?" Ike asked, his voice starting to shake.

"No, bubbeh," Sheila said. "He, ah-"

"I'm pregnant, Ike," Kyle said. "I'm pretty sure that me and a couple of other guys were abducted by aliens, and they made us all pregnant."

"I don't know that that's the most reasonable-" Terrell tried to say, laughing nervously.

"Whoa, fuck!" Ike said. He sniffled. "So Stan's not the father?"

"Yes, I am!" Stan said. He looked to Terrell. "Right?"

"Well, yes, that's our best guess," Terrell said. "Since you had intercourse with Kyle on the night of conception."

"Oh, Jesus," Ike said.

"If you can't handle hearing about this you should go back to bed!" Gerald said, looking as if he couldn't handle it himself. "I'm gonna make some coffee," he said, heading for the kitchen.

"That's a good idea," Sheila said. "Ike, come down. We're all going to have breakfast together. Dr. Terrell, you're welcome to join us. Stanley, I think you need to go home."

"Why?" Stan asked, though he knew.

"So you can tell your parents about all of this!" Sheila said. "Believe me, you don't want them hearing it from me."

That was true. Stan sighed and kissed Kyle's cheek. Kyle still looked so tired, and sad, like he had been given a death sentence.

"It's gonna be okay," Stan said, whispering. Kyle took a deep breath and let it out, pressing his face to Stan's neck.

"Come back over later," Kyle said. "Please."

"Of course, dude."

"It's so fortunate that you two are in a healthy relationship," Terrell said, intruding on their moment. "Most pregnancies I deal with involve a lot of complications, a lot of stress. Having a strong bond can be really helpful."

"You think Kyle's will be complicated and stressful?" Stan asked.

"Well, unfortunately, I don't see how it couldn't be," Terrell said. "But maybe we'll be surprised! Do you have any other questions for me before you go?"

"No," Stan said, annoyed by him. He kissed Kyle's forehead and gave him a hug, lingering.

"I have a question," Kyle said. He turned in Stan's arms, facing Terrell. "Are you certain that we can't have sex?"

"Kyle!" Sheila called, from the kitchen, where she'd dragged Ike, who had a thousand questions that nobody could answer.

"Well, I'm sorry, mother," Kyle said, shouting. "But physical intimacy is important to me." Stan heard Ike laugh.

"I'd say waiting would be the safest bet at this stage," Terrell said. "At least in terms of one of you ejaculating into the other."

Something clattered in the kitchen, and Stan heard Gerald muttering to himself. Stan stood up, suddenly okay with leaving, though he wanted to take Kyle with him.

"Hopefully we'll determine that it was an isolated circumstance," Terrell said. "In the meantime, you can use condoms. Anal sex itself shouldn't do any harm, we just don't want to crowd another womb in there!"

Kyle and Stan exchanged a look. They'd never used condoms before, and Stan had often strolled past the aisle at Wall-Mart that housed the condoms and feminine products with a spring in his step, silently congratulating himself for never needing to mess with any of that.

Dr. Terrell stood, and he shook Stan's hand as if they were peers. Stan was a little put off by how obviously excited Terrell was about this case study, and by the gratitude in his expression when he looked at Stan, who had apparently made all of this possible somehow.

"I'll come back later," Stan promised, smoothing Kyle's hair. "Eat some breakfast. Take a shower."

"You're not the boss of me," Kyle said, but he smiled. Terrell headed into the kitchen, and Kyle stood up to throw his arms around Stan's neck and kiss him with surprising vigor. He was a little breathless when he pulled back, looking very serious. "At least it's with you," he said, softly.

"So you do believe it's mine and not some alien's?" Stan said.

"Well, whatever comes out of me, you're helping me deal with it," Kyle said. "That's the way I'm looking at it."

"Fair enough," Stan said. He kissed Kyle again and left, feeling queasy.

It was a frosty Sunday morning, the first of November, and walking home along the sleepy streets gave Stan time to think, but not enough time to really process what was happening to Kyle. He kept trying to make it sink in, repeating things in his head like a mantra: _Kyle is carrying my baby. Kyle very well might give birth to my child. We are going to have a baby. Me and Kyle, a baby_. He found himself clinging to all of this as reassurance, at least compared to the alien idea, or the idea of Kyle's health deteriorating to the point that he needed risky emergency surgery, which Stan refused to seriously consider. Kyle was a fighter. His body had been through some serious shit, and he'd come out okay, with Stan's help.

He hoped his parents wouldn't be home, but both of their cars were in the driveway, covered with a thin layer of fresh snow from the night before. They were always home on Sundays. Approaching the front door, Stan was newly glad that Shelly was off at college. At least he wouldn't have to endure her commentary on this until Thanksgiving.

Inside, his dad was on the couch watching TV, his mom sitting next to him and reading a novel. The house smelled like bacon.

"Hey, there he is," Randy said.

"Did you have a nice Halloween with Kyle?" Sharon asked.

"I need to talk to you guys," Stan said. He really didn't want to cry again; his eyes were still raw from the night before.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Sharon asked. "Is Kyle okay?"

"Not really."

"Shit, what happened?" Randy asked, actually pulling his eyes from the TV.

"Can you turn that off?" Stan asked. He walked over to sit across from them, in a chair near the fireplace. His father turned the television off and his mother bookmarked her novel, setting it on a table beside the couch. The look of quietly increasing concern on her face made Stan's lip shake a little.

"What's wrong, baby?" Sharon asked. "Is Kyle sick again?"

"Kidneys?" Randy guessed. Stan shook his head.

"Mom. Dad." He remembered trying to work up the nerve to tell everyone about the Beaverton Dam break when he was a kid. This was worse. He stared down at his hands, his left leg jiggling uncontrollably. "Um."

"Honey." His mother rose and walked to him, and he wished she wouldn't have, because as soon as she knelt in front of him and took his hand his eyes started to water. "What's the matter?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"Something really strange," Stan said, hiccuping a little. "We don't know how. He's got these doctors looking at him, and they all say the same thing, but they can't explain it."

"Oh, shit," Randy said. Sharon gave him a look. She turned back to Stan, her eyes softening.

"What is it, Stan?" she asked. She was rubbing his hand like she had when he was a kid and nervous about getting a shot. "What are the doctors saying?"

"They say he's pregnant," Stan said, hating that word intensely. He looked at his father, who was frowning.

"Pregnant." Randy said flatly.

"Oh." Sharon brought a hand to her mouth. "Kyle is, um. A hermaphrodite?"

"No," Stan said, shaking his head emphatically. "It's something that's happening to boys in South Park. There have been two other cases, they think."

"You're not one of them, are you?" Randy asked. Stan shook his head. "Well, thank God for that. But, wait. You're saying, uh. Kyle's is - yours?"

"Yeah," Stan said. He sniffled and chanced a look down at his mother, afraid to see the disappointment on her face. It was more like confusion.

"How, Stan?" she asked. "I don't get it."

"We don't, either. They're trying to figure it out. But I'm - I'm really scared, Mom, what if something bad happens to him because of this, and it's my fault-"

"Honey, oh." His mother stood and pulled him up with her, hugging him. Stan found it easier to just cry pathetically than try to explain any further. His father was still on the couch, frowning as if he was trying to work out a crossword puzzle clue.

"Why the hell weren't you using a condom?" Randy asked.

"Randy, not now!" Sharon said, turning Stan away as if to protect him from this.

"We didn't think we needed to," Stan said. He pulled back from his mother and wiped at his eyes. "We thought, you know. Since we've only ever been with each other."

"Says him," Randy said. "You don't know that he hasn't messed around."

"Randy! Enough!"

"Dad, it's Kyle," Stan said, narrowing his eyes. "I trust him more than anyone in the world."

"Alright, ah." Sharon sighed and pushed her bangs off her forehead. "I'm going to have to call Sheila. Is he planning on, um. Keeping the - baby?"

"Is it a regular human baby?" Randy asked.

"Yes!" Stan said, shouting this at his father. "And yes, he has to keep it. He doesn't want to, but they said it would be too risky to try to get rid of it."

"I see." His mother was quiet for a moment, her hand still pressed to her forehead. "And after it's delivered? What then?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "We just found out last night. I'm so tired, Mom. And I'm starving."

Predictably, this sent her into caregiver mode, and she made Stan his favorite omelet with cheddar and mushrooms, then allowed him to retire to the second floor for a shower and a nap. He could hear her talking to Kyle's mother on the phone as he made his way upstairs. She was gasping and saying 'oh my God' a lot.

"Wait one minute, Stanley," Randy said when Stan was halfway up the stairs. Stan stopped and turned to his dad, who was walking up to meet him. They weren't very close anymore, and Stan sometimes wondered if it was because of the 'Kyle thing,' which was what the family generally said when referring to his gayness.

"What?" Stan said when his father reached the stair he was standing on. Randy propped his elbow on the banister and sighed dramatically.

"I have to say, pal," he said. "I'm kinda proud of you." He looked behind him as if to make sure that Stan's mother wouldn't overhear this.

"Proud of me?" Stan said.

"You must be packing some serious stuff if you're able to get a dude pregnant," Randy said, lowering his voice. Stan groaned and let his father hug him, somewhat relieved that he was being insane instead of angry.

The rest of the day passed with the kind of quiet resignation of a normal Sunday, with everyone dreading the oncoming reality that they would have to fall back into on Monday morning. After his nap, Stan picked up Kyle's favorite sub sandwich: Italian on white with onions, lettuce, and extra mayo. He brought it over to Kyle's house, where Kyle devoured it in record time, his appetite having returned full force. They spent the rest of the day listlessly doing homework, and Stan fell asleep with his head on Kyle's thigh in the middle of a Calculus problem set, still holding his mechanical pencil.

"Are you seriously going to come to school tomorrow?" Stan asked as he was preparing to leave, lingering in the foyer with Kyle clutched against him.

"I have to," Kyle said. "I've already missed so many days, and now at least I don't feel like I'm going to puke every five seconds. I'm way behind on everything, and I'm still - I'm not going to let this mess up our plans, Stan. I'm still going to college."

"Okay." Stan let that sink in for a while before speaking, sensing Kyle's annoyance, because he knew what Stan was going to say. "How about the baby, though? Will your parents take care of it?" He hated the thought of Sheila raising his child.

"I don't know who will take care of it, just not me," Kyle said. "I don't even like kids."

"Dude, whatever. You were great with Ike. I used to think it was so cute, how you'd help him put his shoes on-"

"Stan! Stop fantasizing! Ike was cute, yes, but when he had a shitty diaper I handed him off to my parents."

"I could change the diapers," Stan said, muttering. He was aware that he sounded like an idiot, but he didn't appreciate Kyle's exasperated eye roll.

"Let's not talk about it yet," Kyle said. "For all we know, this thing could shrivel up into nothing in a few weeks, problem solved." He kissed Stan chastely on the lips and pulled back to search his eyes for a moment. "You really wouldn't hate having a baby with me?" he asked, his voice suddenly much softer.

"Of course I wouldn't hate it." Stan touched Kyle's stomach. "If that's our baby in there. Dude. I love it."

"You're out of your mind," Kyle said, but he kissed Stan more deeply than he had all week, tasting of onions and salami.

Monday was almost alarmingly normal, at least at the start. Stan picked Kyle up for school as usual, and Kyle came out bundled in his coat, hat, and scarf, looking miserable and tired - as usual. He was not a morning person, and if he wasn't pregnant, Stan would have taken him for his usual morning cup of coffee from the Harbucks drive-thru before school.

"I have to meet with not one but two fucking doctors after school," Kyle said. "Terrell and that Winters person, for blood tests and stuff."

"I'll come with you," Stan said, and Kyle reached over to hold his hand. This was the only other difference in their routine so far, besides the lack of coffee: Kyle was constantly holding Stan's hand. Stan didn't mind.

At school, Stan was anxious, as if someone would look at them and know that they were harboring a gestating secret. Kyle laughed when Stan helped him unwind his scarf and hung it for him in his locker, and Stan smiled sheepishly. He knew he needed to back off a little, that he was hovering, but he felt more protective of Kyle than he ever had, and Park County High was no place for fragile things.

"Where the hell were you guys last night?" Kenny asked when he made his way over to them. "You're all better?" he added as an afterthought, and he whacked Kyle's arm, which annoyed Stan. He wanted to issue a school-wide decree prohibiting any roughhousing with Kyle.

"I'm better," Kyle said. "Not _all_ better."

"I got your text," Stan said to Kenny. "Sorry, I just - we were busy. They barred Butters' window?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "And I don't think he's here today, unless he's really late. And Butters is never late. I'm sort of freaking out, dude."

"Did you try talking to him through the bars?" Kyle asked.

"He wasn't there the first time I went," Kenny said. "And the second time, get this. They'd greased the fucking tree with something, man. Crisco, I think. Like I'm some goddamn squirrel trying to eat out of their bird feeders. That kid loves me, okay? This isn't right."

"Calm down," Stan said. "It'll be okay. Butters was feeling sick last week, wasn't he?" He exchanged a look with Kyle. "Maybe he's still a little under the weather."

"Well, then I want to take care of him," Kenny said. He punched a locker and walked away muttering.

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle said when he was gone, whispering. "You don't think Butters-?"

"Let's try not to speculate," Stan said, but he'd noticed Token and Clyde walking together earlier, and they'd both seemed somber and tired in a miserably conspiring way.

"Hey, butthead," Wendy said when they'd finished with Kyle's locker and moved over to Stan's. Usually they parted during locker organization time, but not today. Stan smiled at Wendy apologetically. "You don't answer my texts anymore?" she said.

"It was a crazy weekend," Stan said. "Kyle was sick."

"I wasn't that sick," Kyle said sharply. He hated it when Stan volunteered any information about him to Wendy. "And anyway, I'm fine now. Could I borrow your AP History notes?" he asked Wendy.

"I guess I can dig mine out." She was just as bitchy to Kyle as he was to her. Stan found it exhausting even under the best of circumstances, and he really wasn't in the mood for it today. He was even less enthusiastic about dealing with Cartman, who was barreling toward them in what looked like a fit of rage, glowering and stomping like he was itching for a fight. Stan moved in front of Kyle, who peeked up over Stan's shoulder as Cartman approached. He looked dangerously unhinged, his varsity jacket open over what appeared to be pajamas, his boots unlaced and his hair a sleep-styled wreck.

"You fuckin' witch!" he shouted, pointing his finger at Wendy.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Cartman asked, still shouting. His face was pale and splotchy, and he looked like he'd been crying. "Sorceress!" he said, looking around wildly but still pointing at Wendy. "We've got us a sorceress here, folks! This is an evil harpie from hell who can do magic! Right here! Wendy Testaburger!"

"What are you talking about?" Wendy asked. She almost sounded bored, as if this was par for the course for her and Cartman. Stan was tempted to assume so, too, but as he started to close his locker, he caught the look on Kyle's face and could see what he was thinking.

"Oh, shit," Stan said under his breath. Kyle widened his eyes as if to say, _Right?_

"What the hell did you do to me?" Cartman asked Wendy, beginning to break down. A crowd was forming around them. "Undo it!" Cartman said, and he clasped his hands together, shaking them. "Please, goddammit, you have to undo it!"

"Undo what?" Wendy asked. "What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who hasn't returned my calls for three days."

"Don't toy with me, woman!" Cartman said. He was blubbering a little, both hands at his sides now. "What the fuck did I do to deserve this?" he asked. "I treated you right. I made you come! We talked about our _future_!"

"Oh, my God!" Wendy said, shouting now. "Stop!" She made as if to grab Cartman's arm, but he jerked away from her.

"Don't touch me!" he said, backing into the crowd. "Foul creature! Deceptive whore! I loved you, bitch, and this is what you do to me? Fuck you, Wendy! Fuck you!"

He ran off, pushing people out of the way. Kids were laughing, clapping, taking pictures. Wendy seemed more confused than embarrassed, standing in the middle of the hallway with her mouth hanging open. She scoffed and looked at Stan.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" she asked.

"Tell her, Stan," Kyle whispered, and he definitely sounded a little delighted.

"But -" Stan said, afraid of the way Wendy was looking at him. "It's not the same, right, because she's a girl, and-"

"Tell me what?" Wendy asked. "What's going on? What do you two know?"

They took her to the corridor near the gym, which was empty as the late bell rang and the halls emptied out. Kyle hated being late for class, but he'd made an exception for this, and Stan sort of wished he'd asked Kyle to let him tell Wendy this alone.

"Well?" Wendy said when they were out of earshot of the other students. "What the fuck? What does Cartman think I did to him?"

"Uh." Stan glanced at Kyle, who shrugged as if to say, _There's_ _no_ _delicate_ _way_ _to_ _put_ _this_. Stan swallowed and locked eyes with Wendy again.

"Dude," he said. He'd never really called her that before, but suddenly it seemed appropriate. "I think Cartman might be pregnant."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait between chapters, but it was for a good cause - my South Park Big Bang fic is now finished ... in draft form, anyway. So that will be posted with the accompanying art sometime in April. In the meantime, back to this fic, which is now my no. 1 priority. It took me a few days to get back into the ... particular mood of this story, but I managed to today. Thanks to everyone who is reading!

* * *

><p>On Thursday Cartman returned to school, surly and refusing to speak to anyone, especially Wendy, who still thought that this was just some elaborate prank that they were all trying to play on her. Between third period and Stan's lunch hour the hallways were suddenly papered with bright blue flyers that had been stuck in lockers and taped up on the walls. Stan stopped to read one, and he knew immediately who had put them up.<p>

ARE YOU PREGNANT? ARE YOU FUCKIN PISSED OFF ABOUT IT? COME AND JOIN 'PREGNANT AND PISSED OFF' THIS AFTERNOON, IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING SCHOOL, 47 MAPLE DRIVE. AN OFFERING OF SNACKS IS REQUIRED FOR ENTRY.

That was Cartman's address, but Stan would have known it was him even without that incriminating information. So far, Cartman was the only other probably-pregnant boy they had been able to identify. Stan suspected that Butters might be the third, since his parents had now held him out of school for almost two weeks and Kenny hadn't even managed to get a glimpse of him through his bedroom window, let alone a returned phone call. Dr. Terrell had told Stan and Kyle that the other two pregnancies were confirmed as legitimate, but he had to keep the names of the two boys confidential for legal reasons.

"Did you see the flyers?" Stan asked when he sat beside Kyle in their usual spot during lunch.

"Yeah." Kyle checked around to make sure no one was listening. Kenny and Cartman usually sat with them, but Cartman was probably busy putting flyers under windshield wipers in the school parking lot, and Kenny was too depressed to eat. He'd been spending his lunch hours chain smoking in the parking lot, listening to sad music on Stan's old iPod. "I'm thinking about going," Kyle said, quietly.

"Seriously? Why?"

"Why? Stan, what have we been talking about nonstop all week? Who the other two are! This is a way of finding out for sure. Though I guess we know Cartman is definitely one of them, since that was his address on the - thing." Kyle lowered his voice as Kevin Stoley passed by.

"But what if Butters is the third?" Stan said. "He won't be there. His parents have him on lock down."

"That's what I thought, but he showed up halfway through Honors Lit!" Kyle said, grabbing Stan's arm. "I don't know if Kenny has seen him yet. He looked kind of rough - he said he'd had the flu, and he gave the teacher a note. I tried to talk to him after class but he mumbled something about needing to talk to his Calc teacher and darted off. That little fucker is fast when he wants to be."

"You seem better today," Stan said, slipping an arm around Kyle's back. Kyle had been gloomy and quiet for the past few days, and this was the most excitement Stan had seen him show since they got the news. Kyle shrugged.

"I have an appetite," he said, shaking the last crumbs of his barbecue chips out onto a napkin. "So that's something. What should we bring for our snack when we go to the meeting?"

"We're seriously going?" Stan asked.

"Yes, Stan! You know, it's actually a good idea."

"That last time you said that about something Cartman did you were eating burgers that had marinated in his ass."

"Ha." Kyle glared at him. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten. But, look. People are going to find out sooner or later, and Cartman might have some valuable information to help us understand how this happened."

"Cartman and valuable information," Stan said skeptically. "I guess stranger things have happened, fuck. Will I even be allowed in? As an impregnator?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to his house without you!" Kyle said. Stan kissed his forehead.

"We can stop at Walgreen's on the way there and get some of those Mrs. Field's peanut butter cookies," he said, because Kyle had expressed a craving for those. Kyle grinned.

"You guys look happy," Kenny said miserably, sitting down across from them. He had no lunch and reeked of cigarettes. Stan passed him some green apple slices, but Kenny just stared at them.

"Dude, Butters is at school!" Kyle said.

"I know," Kenny says. "He won't talk to me. Something is seriously fucked up."

Stan looked at Kyle, asking him if it was okay to tell Kenny about what had happened to them. Kyle sighed.

"You guys know something," Kenny said. "What? What's going on with Butters?"

"Let's take a walk," Kyle said, crumpling up his chip bag. "We've still got thirty minutes left before next period, and I really don't want to have this conversation here."

"What conversation?" Kenny asked, getting louder. "What is it? Was it his parents? Did they do something-"

"Shh!" Kyle said. "We're not a hundred percent sure what's going on with Butters, but there's something else we need to tell you about. Come on."

It was cold outside, the clouds overhead thick and gray. They walked around the side of the school with Kenny, toward his usual smoking spot, then past it when they found it occupied by the Goth kid with the red streak in his hair. They headed toward the soccer field, and by the time they got there Kenny was agitated, breathing hard.

"Tell me," he said. "Why won't Butters talk to me?"

"I don't know," Kyle said. He looked cold, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets and his shoulders raised. Stan hugged him from behind. "He wouldn't talk to me, either," Kyle said. "All we have is a theory about what might be happening to him."

"Yeah?" Kenny said. "What? Tell me!"

Kyle moaned and turned to hide his face against Stan's chest. "I can't say it," he said, his voice muffled. "Stan, you tell him."

"Kyle's pregnant," Stan blurted, not wanting to prolong this any further. Kyle stiffened in his arms, and Stan gave him a squeeze.

"Okay," Kenny said tonelessly. "So this is part of that prank you guys are playing on Wendy?"

"It's not a prank on fucking Wendy!" Kyle said, lifting his face. "It's real, and we don't know how, but it's happening to a bunch of boys in town!"

"Three that we know of," Stan said. "But we don't know who they are. It looks like Cartman is another one, and. Listen, um. Did you and Butters have sex on the night of Bebe's party?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "What does - Butters isn't pregnant, you assholes. I know my way around a vag, alright, and he doesn't have one." He raised his eyebrows, staring at Kyle. "Apparently you and Cartman do? That makes sense in an odd way."

"Fuck you!" Kyle said. "I don't have female anatomy! Neither do the other two boys who got pregnant. It just happened!"

"You're saying someone fucked Cartman in the ass?" Kenny said, scoffing as if that was the most hard to believe element in play here.

"You brought Butters some of that punch, didn't you?" Stan said. "In that thermos Bebe gave you?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "He liked it, he got kind of drunk and - loud. Is that what made all of you guys sick, that punch?"

"Did you not just hear me?" Kyle asked, getting loud himself. "I am pregnant, Kenny! Like nine different doctors have confirmed it! You know how fucked up shit sometimes happens in this town? Well, this is one of those fucked up things, and Butters might have been affected, too!"

"You think that's why he won't talk to me?" Kenny asked. "He's - carrying my child? Or, shit, do you think his parents made him get it taken care of?"

"It's possible," Stan said. "But Kyle's doctors wouldn't even consider that. They said it's too risky until they know more about the physiology."

"Fizzy what?" Kenny made a face. "Fuck, you guys are serious?"

"Would we joke about this?" Kyle asked, thumping his hand against Kenny's chest.

"Yes," Kenny said. "Or, I mean, _I_ would-"

"Dude, listen," Stan said. "You should try to find Butters. Pull him out of class if you have to. Make him talk to you."

"Why?" Kenny asked. "So he can tell me to leave him alone again? Because he's so afraid of his fucking parents that he can't even fill me in on the fact that he's knocked up with my ass baby?"

"Don't call it an ass baby!" Kyle said. Stan was surprised; so far he hadn't heard Kyle refer to his pregnancy as anything but 'the entity' or just 'it.' Ass baby was a step up, Stan thought.

"Whatever," Kenny said. He dug his cigarettes from his back pocket. "I can't even handle this right now. I'll try to talk to him again, but he'll just look at me like I'm some stranger and run off."

"He's probably just embarrassed," Kyle said. "I mean, how the hell do you tell someone that they got you pregnant? When you're a boy?"

Kenny stuck the cigarette in his mouth and dug for his lighter. "I don't know," he said. "How'd you tell Stan?"

"Hey," Stan said. He swiped the cigarette from Kenny's lips. "Not around Kyle."

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Kyle and Kenny said, in unison.

"What?" Stan said to Kyle. "It's not right." He gave Kenny his cigarette back, and Kenny tucked it behind his ear.

"Well?" Kenny said, looking at Kyle. "How'd you drop the bomb on Stan?"

"Doctors were present to corroborate my story," Kyle said.

"And Sheila was there to threaten me with arrest," Stan added.

"Look," Kyle said. "Whatever is going on with Butters, he's obviously scared about you judging him for some reason or another. Be persistent. If you really do love him," Kyle added skeptically.

"Hey." Kenny pointed his finger in Kyle's face, and Stan batted it away. "I love him," Kenny said, looking between the two of them. "You guys don't have a fucking monopoly on love. You don't know me and Butters as well as you think you do. You think we're these - cheerful background characters or something. You don't know our life."

"Oh, Christ," Kyle said. "Let's go inside," he said, tugging on Stan's arm.

"What do you mean we don't know you?" Stan asked, hurt. "We've known you since we were four years old."

"Fucking go back inside," Kenny said. He put the cigarette between his lips again. "I'm gonna have a smoke. Better get the mother to be out of here."

"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle said. "Why are you being such a dick? We just trusted you with the most humiliating secret we've ever had!"

"How is it humiliating that you two somehow managed to make a baby?" Kenny asked. "That's not humiliating, that's fucking poetic. If Butters is pregnant with my kid, his parents better not have fucked with it."

"You are insane!" Kyle shouted. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"What?" Kenny said. "You're not even a little bit happy that you're going to create new life with fucking Mr. Wonderful over here?"

"Don't call me that," Stan said. "Why are you being such a jerk?"

"Because, Stanley, you guys just laid some pretty heavy shit on me, and I need to have a smoke and try to process it, alright? Now get lost!"

"Maybe you're the one who got knocked up," Kyle said, walking back toward the doors to the school. "Since you're the one acting like a hormonal bitch!"

"Fuck off, Broflovski," Kenny muttered, and Kyle did, huffily reentering the school and dragging Stan in behind him.

The rest of the day passed slowly, and Stan was increasingly sure that going to Cartman's 'pregnant and pissed off' meeting would result in disaster, especially if they couldn't even get through a conversation about this with Kenny without Kyle blowing up. Usually Stan could settle the blame squarely on Kyle when he got worked up without reason, but he had to admit that Kenny had been the instigator in that case. He didn't seem well.

After school, Kyle was sullen and quiet, and he gave Stan a long look when Stan opened the passenger side door of the car for him.

"What?" Stan asked, though by then he'd guessed what he'd done wrong.

"You know, if I don't want Kenny to smoke around me, I can say so myself," Kyle said.

"Oh, sorry, do you _want_ Kenny to smoke around you?"

"Maybe," Kyle said. "I mean, why not? It's not like this is going to be some perfect, adorable, normal baby, Stan. Okay? So get your head out of the clouds."

"What the fuck?" Stan said. He left the door hanging open and walked around to the driver's side. "How do you know?"

"It's really grossing me out that you're happy about this!" Kyle said, glaring at him from over the roof of the car. "I'd expect this from Kenny, but from you? It's like you're - God, _glowing_."

"All I did was open your door!"

"Just - you're getting your hopes up!" Kyle said. His lip was trembling. He dropped into the car and slammed the door, and Stan followed him inside, prepared for more shouting. Kyle had put his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. "And when this thing comes out all messed up you're going to hate me for wrecking your baby or whatever," Kyle said.

"Dude, stop," Stan said. He rubbed the back of Kyle's neck, relieved. He could deal with weepy Kyle much more easily than bitterly angry Kyle. "You know that's not true."

"I don't know anything anymore!" Kyle said, looking up at him. "I'm pregnant, Stan! And now Kenny knows. It - it didn't feel real, but now we're, we're going to this _meeting_-"

"We don't have to go to the meeting," Stan said. "Believe me, I'd much rather just go home-"

"Oh, where the doctors are waiting for me? Poised in the living room with their fucking tea cups, ready to put their bastard hands all over me - they can barely stop themselves from smiling, have you noticed? They're so pleased that their _specimen_ has survived another day."

Stan wanted to tell Kyle that he was being dramatic, but he supposed the situation was a pretty dramatic one. He rubbed the back of Kyle's neck and let him sulk for a bit before starting the car.

"Just take me to Cartman's," Kyle said. "I want to be around someone who's as miserable and angry as I am, even if it's him."

Stan was a little wounded at the idea that he couldn't offer enough commiseration to satisfy Kyle, but he supposed that wasn't fair, since their situation was related but not the same. Still, he doubted Cartman would do anything more than reduce Kyle to angry sobs.

They stopped at Walgreen's for the cookies as planned, and Kyle also picked out a Vitamin Water and some watermelon gum. Stan hesitated to reach for his wallet in the check out line, afraid that what happened with the car door would recur, but Kyle just stared at him expectantly, and Stan was relieved to be allowed to pay. As they returned to the car with their purchases, Kyle seemed to be in better spirits.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said when they had nearly reached Cartman's house. "I'm very - this is hard."

"I know," Stan said. "I mean, I don't know, I can't - I'm not the one going through it, really-"

"Yes, you are, oh, poor Stan." Kyle unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over to kiss Stan's cheek as he parked on the road outside of Cartman's house.

"Looks like we're the first ones here," Stan said. He caught the next kiss on his lips.

"Kenny called you Mr. Wonderful," Kyle said.

"Yeah. That asshole."

"Nn, no, he's right." Kyle leaned back into his seat and fished out the cookies. He opened the bag and ate two, staring at the front door of Cartman's house. There was a black balloon tied to the mailbox. "I guess it's now or never," Kyle said, still chewing, and he got out of the car.

Stan had never liked going to Cartman's house, and it had gotten worse as they got older, because he was pretty sure Liane Cartman wanted to nail him. Kyle had informed him that she actually had slept with Kenny during sophomore year, so every time Stan interacted with Cartman's mom he was fighting mental images of a three way with her and Kenny, which was mostly upsetting because he actually found the idea sort of arousing, in a fucked-up, purely fantasy way.

Fortunately, Cartman answered the door. He glowered at them.

"What do you fags want?" he asked. "I'm busy."

"We came for the meeting," Kyle said. "Here." He pushed the cookies into Cartman's hands.

"Oh, fucking seriously?" Cartman looked like he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or sneer. It was an unattractive combination. "Which one of you got cursed? I'd assume Kyle, but since I'm the man in my relationship and _I_ ended up with an evil demon womb-"

"What relationship?" Kyle asked bitterly, and Stan's suspicions were confirmed: Kyle mostly wanted to hang out with Cartman so that he could direct his impotent rage at something durable.

"The one I was succubus'd into by a witch from hell," Cartman said.

"Can we come in, please?" Stan asked, already losing his patience. "It's fucking freezing out."

"Just get in here, assholes," Cartman said. He looked up and down the street once Stan and Kyle were inside, as if wondering where the other pregnant guys were. "This is what passes for snacks for you twinks?" Cartman asked, digging his hand into the cookie bag. He was wearing sweatpants and a black turtleneck that was straining to contain him, a couple of crumbs caught in the collar.

"Alright," Kyle said. "Tell us everything."

"Hold your big-nosed horses, Jew," Cartman said. "Let me get some goddamn milk first."

Cartman got some goddamn milk, and he carried it down to the basement along with the cookies, Stan and Kyle following him with trays of homemade baked goods that smelled delicious: iced sugar cookies and brownies that looked like they'd been infused with some kind of cheesecake swirl. Stan was glad Liane hadn't made an appearance yet, and he was actually somewhat cheered by Cartman's persistent desire to set a scene when he organized meetings of any sort: he'd made a banner and a few posters with illustrations of an angry face, the words PREGNANT AND PISSED OFF! framing its rageful expression. The usual old wooden podium was set up in front an assortment of fifteen folding chairs.

"You really think this many people are going to come?" Kyle asked, surveying the chairs as Cartmant arranged the snacks on a table that he'd covered with one of Liane's delicate white runners.

"Maybe," Cartman said. "My doctor told me he had another case in town, and he said he'd been talking with some doctors in Denver who had cases."

"Doctors?" Stan said, looking at Kyle. "Plural?"

"Yeah," Cartman said. "Clearly she's trying to create a whole breed of demon babies to take over the town. Or the world, probably."

"Dude, I really don't think Wendy is behind this," Stan said.

"How do you know?" Kyle asked. "I mean, she certainly has something against both me and Cartman."

"Are you serious right now?" Stan asked, staring at Kyle.

"Hey, that's right!" Cartman said. "Kyle stole her boyfriend, and I - wait, what the fuck did I ever do to her?"

"Well," Kyle said, "Am I to understand that you traumatized her with the sight of your naked body?"

"Hey, c'mon," Stan said.

"Traumatized?" Cartman said, scoffing. "Yeah, I don't think so, Kyle. It was more like I showed her what your limp-wristed hippie boyfriend could never do for her - _and_ _more_."

"You're still going to try to brag about nailing Wendy while you accuse her of getting you pregnant?" Stan said, shoving him. Cartman shrugged and cut himself a sizable brownie.

"I'm just stating, for the record," he said, "That was one satisfied succubus."

Stan was going to protest on behalf of Wendy, but the door at the top of the stairs opened before he could. Kyle grabbed Stan's arm as they all watched the stairs, waiting to see who would emerge. It definitely wasn't Liane; the footsteps were slow and there were at least two voices, whispering to each other.

"Oh, fucking sweet!" Cartman said when they saw that it was Token, Clyde following close behind. "Private funding!"

"Man, fuck this," Token said. He stopped in the middle of the stairs and seemed to be preparing to storm out when he saw Stan and Kyle. "Oh," he said. "Shit."

"You guys, too?" Clyde said. He looked like he'd already been crying a little, and he was hunched behind Token's shoulders, hugging a bag of Doritos.

"Yeah," Stan said. "C'mon down. I'm really glad someone else showed up."

"Yes, yes, this is quite fortunate!" Cartman said, rubbing his hands together. "With Token's millions we can-"

"Did I just volunteer to give you any money?" Token asked. He took Clyde's hand as they descended the rest of the stairs. "We're only here to find out who the others are."

"And to see what you guys know," Clyde said. He sniffled and rubbed his palm over the corner of his eye. "And maybe for, like. Some support."

"It's you, isn't it?" Token said to Kyle, who frowned.

"Yes," he said, reaching for a brownie. Stan wanted to warn him off of it, because he'd already had two cookies and his blood sugar probably wasn't in great shape, but he didn't want to scold Kyle in front of the others, not now.

"Who'd you get pregnant?" Clyde asked Cartman as he approached the snacks shyly, eying the selection. He set the Doritos down and reached for a sugar cookie.

"Uh," Cartman said. "Well, seems like-"

"Cartman got pregnant," Kyle volunteered. "By Wendy, we think."

"Holy shit," Clyde said, letting his mouth hang open, half-chewed sugar cookie on display. Token just laughed. Cartman turned bright red and headed for the podium.

"What we have here in South Park," he said, gripping it with both hands and leaning forward, "Is a motherfuckin' witch. Clearly, it's Wendy."

"Why does it have to be Wendy?" Stan asked. "You're the only one who had sex with her that night."

"Um, well, her name starts with 'W,' okay, which might be a clue-"

"That night?" Token said. "Are you talking about the night of Bebe's party?"

"Yeah," Stan said. He headed for the folding chairs, guiding Kyle away from the sweets. "We have a theory that it's something to do with that punch she served."

"So Bebe is the witch!" Cartman said.

"No way," Clyde said. He sat down in the row behind Kyle and Stan, Token beside him. Token was keeping close, hovering, and it made Stan embarrassed about the way he'd been acting since they found out. It was true that he didn't typically open car doors for Kyle. "Bebe wouldn't do that," Clyde said.

"Yeah, she's our friend," Token said. "Why would she want this to happen to us?"

"I'll tell you why," Cartman said. "Because the bitches in this town resent the fact that all of you guys have fagged them over for dudes! Where are they supposed to get dick now that you're all screwing each other? North Park?"

"Gee, Cartman, if it's that simple, why aren't they all banging on your door?" Kyle asked. "Since you're _clearly_ masculine enough to handle them all! Oh, wait, except - you're pregnant, just like us, so you can stop acting like you're so fucking butch! I mean, Jesus, you're wearing a turtleneck! You made posters!"

"There's nothing effeminate about posters!" Cartman said, pounding the podium with is fist. "Posters are a call to action! Posters demand attention for your cause- aw, shit, I knew it."

He was looking at the stairs. Everyone turned to see Butters standing just above the landing, his eyes wet and red, fists rubbing together.

"H-hey fellas," he said in a weak little voice.

"Oh, Butters!" Kyle said, springing up from his chair. "It's okay, come here."

Stan had never seen Kyle offer Butters much in the way of affection - he was usually more prone to roll his eyes and ask Kenny what the hell he saw in that kid - but at the bottom of the stairs Kyle grabbed Butters and hugged him tightly, allowing Butters to sniffle against his shoulder.

"Welcome, Butters," Cartman said, with an edge of irritation. "Help yourself to some refreshments and sit your ass down. We're going over potential suspects."

"Give him a minute!" Kyle said, glowering at Cartman.

"Ah- I'm okay," Butters said. He wiped at his face with the overlong sleeves of his fleece sweatshirt. "I can't stay long, my folks think I'm doing a make up test at school. I just - I saw your flyers, Eric, and, well. I'm real grateful to have somebody to talk to."

"Why haven't you talked to Kenny?" Stan asked. Kyle glared at him.

"Maybe because Kenny is acting like a lunatic!" Kyle said.

"Only because he's worried about Butters!" Stan said. "Seriously, dude, you should tell him what's going on."

"He'll be so mad at me!" Butters said, and he burst into tears.

"Okay, excuse me!" Cartman said. "Order, we need some order here-"

"He won't be mad." Stan got up and went to Kyle and Butters, who were still hugging. Stan couldn't help thinking that Kyle was cradling Butters in a somewhat maternal fashion. "Butters," Stan said. "Kenny was actually kind of worried that your parents, um. Might have, you know. Made you get rid of it."

"Oh, gosh no!" Butters said, both hands flying to his stomach. "That's against our religion!"

"We asked about it and the doctor said it was too risky," Token said.

"These so-called doctors just want to study us like we're freaks!" Cartman said, pounding the podium again. "That's what I think."

"Me too, actually," Kyle said. "So, okay. Come over here, Butters, do you want something to eat?"

"W-well, them brownies look pretty tasty."

"Okay, here you go." Kyle plated a brownie for Butters and poured him some milk. "Now that Butters is here, we know who the second pregnancy diagnosed by South Park doctors is."

"I didn't see any doctors in South Park," Butters said, sitting. "My parents took me out of town, seeing as how I'm an embarrassment to the family and all."

"Oh." Kyle sat down beside Butters and watched him eat a few bites of brownie. "So Clyde, you saw doctors in South Park?"

"No," Clyde said. "Token took me to his family doctor in Denver."

"She's much better than any doctors in South Park," Token said. "Um, no offense."

"So me, Clyde, and Butters were all diagnosed outside of town?" Kyle said. He looked at Stan and frowned. "I thought Dr. Terrell said there were two cases of male pregnancy documented in South Park? Did he just mean that-"

Up at the top of the stairs, the door creaked open. Kyle stopped talking, and Butters paused in mid-chew. Everyone turned toward the stairs. Someone was descending the stairs very tentatively, as if hoping to sneak down unnoticed.

"Mom?" Cartman called. "Is that you? I told you, this is a private-"

He stopped when they sat that it wasn't Liane, it was Tweek. He looked like he was about to implode from anxiety, trembling visibly and gritting his teeth as everyone stared at him.

"Oh, fuck, I might have known," Cartman said. "Get down here. Did you get pregnant on the night of Bebe's party, too?"

"Nuh- no!" Tweek said. He was so nervous he could barely walk.

"Some other night?" Kyle said. "When? How far along are you?"

"Ah- I'm not!" Tweek said. "Gah!"

"Not what?" Stan asked. "You're not pregnant?"

"N-no! Shit, I can't-"

"Then why the fuck are you here?" Cartman asked, shouting. "Just to gawk at the freaks? Get out of here, asshole!"

"He's with me."

Craig walked down even more slowly than Tweek had, giving them all a hateful stare when he was standing beside Tweek, who tried to cling to him. Craig leaned away from him and pointed to the bottom of the stairs.

"S-sorry!" Tweek said, bolting for the landing. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

"Wait," Kyle said. He seemed to be on the verge of smiling; Stan elbowed him. "Wait-"

"For the record," Craig said, grabbing the railing on the stairs and leaning over it. "I fuck him, okay? I am the one who does the fucking. To him. This is not fair. This makes _no_ _sense_! And one of you had better start fucking explaining, because I know you motherfuckers are behind every fucked up fucking thing that happens in this shithole town!"

Everyone stared at him, silenced by his outrage. Craig was panting, squeezing the railing like he was going to tear it apart with his bare hands. He was paler than usual and a little sweaty, wearing a puffy blue coat over his skinny jeans. The door at the top of the stairs opened again.

"Everything okay down there, boys?" Liane asked.

"Yes, Mom, God!" Cartman said. "We're just going through a lot right now, okay? You wouldn't understand!"

"Okay, hun! Let me know if you need any more snacks."

She closed the door again, and Craig descended the rest of the stairs. He walked past Tweek, who was cowering against the wall as if he was expecting the echo of Craig's outburst to ricochet off the opposite wall and pierce him like a bullet.

"Speaking of snacks," Cartman said. "Where the fuck is your contribution?"

"Snack on my ass," Craig said. "We came here for answers, and you fuckwads had better start providing some."

"We don't have any more answers than you do," Kyle said. "Nobody knows why this happened, but we all seem to have gotten pregnant on the night of Bebe's party."

"And the punch," Stan said. "Did you guys drink the punch?"

"C-Craig did!" Tweek said. "I don't drink! Gah, shit, I'm so sorry, Craig-"

Craig took a seat, still unwilling to look at Tweek. He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it over the back of his chair, revealing a hip-length gray sweater with a wide neck. He crossed his legs and flipped his bangs off his forehead. Stan wasn't sure why Craig being the pregnant one was so surprising, except that, when he'd caught them fucking in the bathroom during Token's party, Tweek had been the one who was bent over the sink. Tweek approached the folding chairs nervously and sat near Craig, one chair between them.

"First of all," Craig said. "One of you better have found a doctor who is willing to vacuum these things out of us."

Butters flinched and Tweek spazzed, half-swallowing a _gah_ and pulling at his hair with both hands.

"Not yet," Cartman said. "But not for lack of trying. Maybe if Token makes a generous donation to our cause-"

"This isn't a cause," Token said. "It's something that's happened - and-" He glanced at Clyde and slid an arm around him. "Me and Clyde want to keep our baby."

"Oh, that's easy for you to say, moneybags!" Cartman said. "How about the rest of us, huh? We're gonna have to drop out of high school, and-"

"I'm not dropping out!" Kyle said. "Fuck that!"

"What, then, Kyle, you're going to waddle around school letting the freshmen laugh and point at the pregnant ginger freak?" Cartman was snarling, and Stan gave him a warning look, but Cartman didn't seem to notice it, and, even pregnant, he could probably kick Stan's ass.

"Whatever," Kyle said. "I'm not dropping out of school." His shoulders slumped a little and he leaned against Stan miserably.

"I'm not dropping out, either," Craig said. "Or walking the halls like a mutant. I say we pool our money and go down to Mexico. They'll do anything to you there."

"Craig, shut up," Stan said. "You could end up dead. And look how upset you're making Tweek."

They all looked at Tweek, who had leaned over to put his head between his knees. He was moaning under his breath, shaking.

"Poor fella," Butters said, going to him. Tweek jerked when Butters touched his back.

"Poor Tweek?" Craig said. "Poor Tweek? Excuse me, um? He's not the one with an alien trying to eat its way out through his stomach."

"Quit talking like that!" Token said. "They're not aliens, they're human embryos."

"Yeah, if you believe what the quacks who want to study the long term effects of unnatural alien pregnancies on teenage boys are telling you," Craig said.

"Oh, God!" Tweek said, springing up out of his chair. "I can't handle this! It's all my fault! Shit, Craig, but, but - you can't go to Mexico, please-"

"Everyone shut the fuck up and sit down!" Cartman bellowed. Tweek, the only one not already sitting, obeyed. He hugged his arms around himself and let Butters rub his back. "Tweek," Cartman said slowly. "You said this was all your fault. Why?"

"I don't know, man!" Tweek said. "All I know is we did what we always do, and Craig ended up- he - he's got this thing in him, man, and I must have done it somehow!"

"Let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly," Cartman said. He folded his hands on the podium. "Craig, you're saying Tweek didn't have his wiener all up in your guts that night?"

"God," Token said. "Who asked Cartman to lead the meeting?"

"Who do you think?" Kyle muttered.

"I have never had anything belonging to Tweek up in my _guts_," Craig said. "Least of all his dick. I fucked him in Bebe's bathroom before we left the party."

"And I fucked Wendy in Bebe's bedroom before we left," Cartman murmured, stroking his chin. "She certainly didn't come in me, unless my mouth counts."

"Alright," Stan said, wincing. "It sounds like, so far, everyone who got pregnant had sex that night, but the guys who are actually, um, carrying the children weren't necessarily the, um."

"Bottoms," Kyle said dryly. "Well, that just makes me feel _so_ much better. I thought I had at least ended up this way because of - physics."

"Physics?" Token said, turning.

"Motion!" Kyle said, jabbing his finger into his palm. "Something observed by attaching a frame of reference to a body and measuring its change in position relative to another reference frame! Physics!"

"Hey, Cartman," Stan said. "Do you know if Wendy drank any of that punch?"

"I don't fucking know," Cartman said. "What difference does it make?"

"You drank some, right?" Kyle said.

"Yeah," Cartman said. "And Craig did, and Tweek didn't. Token, did you?"

"Nope," Token said. "I was the designated driver. Clyde had a lot of the stuff, though," he said, glancing at Clyde warily. "He - really liked it."

"So did Kyle, and he normally hates even the weakest drinks!" Stan said. Kyle punched his leg, which was unfair, because this was true.

"Son of a bitch," Cartman said. "It was a fuckin' witches' brew!"

"So what?" Craig said. He stood, went to the refreshment table, and carefully cut himself a brownie before throwing it at the wall as hard as he could. Tweek screamed as if Craig had just stuck a knife in somebody.

"Ey!" Cartman shouted.

"I don't care how this happened!" Craig said. He actually looked like he might start crying from pure rage. "I just want it undone! Now!"

"Calm down!" Clyde said. "Jesus, you're acting like a maniac. Tweek is obviously just as upset as you are. Just because you're the pregnant one, that doesn't mean-"

"Do not lecture me, Donovan!" Craig said, pointing his finger at Clyde. "I am not a bottom! I don't deserve this!"

"What, and I do?" Cartman said. "I don't even fuck dudes!"

"Everybody shut up," Kyle said. He stood, and Stan was glad as Kyle moved toward the podium, though he knew Cartman wouldn't vacate it. "We need to make a plan of action," Kyle said. "It's unlikely that Bebe hasn't washed that bowl from her party already, but we can at least get her to show us exactly what she put in the punch."

"Wait," Clyde said. "I saw Bebe drinking the punch, and me and Token were there when she made it."

"Yeah," Token said. "Bebe was sampling it, testing it to see if tasted good. Actually, hey." Token squeezed Clyde's shoulder. "You drank some then and made a face. You said it was too sweet."

"I did," Clyde said, nodding to himself. "And later it was like the greatest thing I'd ever had."

"What are you suggesting?" Kyle asked. "That someone poisoned the punch?"

"We need a list of everyone who was at that party!" Cartman said.

"Do you guys really think some kid at that party was capable of doing this to us?" Stan asked. He was tired, ready to take Kyle home and cuddle up around him while he did his homework.

"Oh, I guess you have some better explanation?" Craig said.

"No," Stan said. "But, just. Can we talk about something other than a pointless witch hunt for a few minutes? What do you guys think is going to happen if you do figure out why this is going on?"

"We could reverse the spell!" Cartman said. "Maybe you're all chipper that you get to have a little ginger Jew baby with Kyla over there, but I'm not having a goddamn baby, especially if Testaburger is the father!"

"Maybe those of us who want to talk about realistically dealing with this instead of ranting about witches and curses should form our own club," Token said.

"Well, I'm sorry Token," Kyle said, just as Stan was about to say that sounded like a great idea. "But _realistic_ for the rest of us doesn't mean adding a nursery wing to the mansion and interviewing potential nannies."

"Don't pick on him just because he has money!" Clyde said. "This has been hard for us, okay? We weren't even dating!"

"Clyde," Token said.

"No, it's not fair!" Clyde said. He stomped over to the refreshment table, and Stan half expected him to cut a brownie and throw it against the wall like Craig had. Instead, he poured himself some milk. "Just because Token has money – that doesn't mean he actually wants this," Clyde said. "He's just being good about it."

"_Clyde_," Token said, standing.

"I didn't even know I was gay!" Clyde said, starting to wibble. Craig snorted.

"You were dancing like you knew," he said.

"I mean," Clyde said, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Maybe I'd suspected, you know, because I liked the way Token smelled, and his shoulders-"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Cartman said, burying his face in his hands at the podium.

"But this is all very jarring for us," Clyde said. Token went to him and hugged his shoulders.

"Jarring," Craig said. "That's nice. For me, it's life ending. I'd rather die on a butcher's block in Tijuana than give birth to this abomination."

Tweek made a horrified noise and ducked out from under Butters' arm, dashing for the stairs. He was all the way up them before Craig stood with a groan.

"How do you expect him to feel when you call his baby an abomination?" Token said.

"Like I'm speaking the truth," Craig said. "He used to appreciate that." Craig picked up his coat and slung it over his shoulder with a flourish. He went to the snack table to cut himself another brownie, but this one didn't end up smashed against the wall. Craig took a dainty bite of it as he headed toward the stairs. "Gentlemen," he said. "It's been a waste of time, as usual."

"I should be getting home, too," Butters said as Craig pranced up the stairs. "Would you guys tell Kenny I'm okay?" he asked, turning toward Stan and Kyle. "A-and tell him not to worry about the baby. My dad said that we're gonna find him a real good home, and that he'll never have to know where he came from and be all embarrassed that he had two dads."

"You want to give the baby up for adoption?" Stan asked.

"You're going to need Kenny's consent," Kyle said. "Maybe," he added, frowning. "I guess there's nothing like this in the law yet."

"Heck, I don't know," Butters said. He seemed tired and worn down in a way that made Stan want to collect him and recuperate him the way he'd tried to do with ailing frogs and baby birds as a kid, carefully depositing them in shoe boxes with some moss for a bed and a piece of Romaine lettuce for food. It had never played out the way he'd wanted it to. "Just tell Kenny I'm real sorry!" Butters said, his voice pinching up. He bolted up the stairs and was gone.

"Well, now that the drama queens have exited stage left," Cartman said. "Back to business."

"What business?" Token asked. "You're not going to convince me that anyone at that party did this to you guys. I thought this meeting was going to be all of us venting about how our parents have reacted and what we're going to do next, not obsessing over placing blame."

"You're not at all interested in finding out why this happened to us?" Kyle asked. "What if we looked into it a little more and found out something that meant it could be safely reversed? You wouldn't want that for Clyde?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," Clyde said, and then it was his turn to dart for the stairs. Cartman groaned and abandoned the podium, returning to the snacks.

"Nice, Kyle," Token said, glaring at him. "Like he's not already stressed out enough."

"You cannot possibly convince me that Clyde wants to keep this baby," Kyle said.

"Why not?" Stan asked, and Kyle gave him a horrified look. "What?" Stan said. "Not everybody is you, dude. Not everybody has the same priorities."

"_Priorities_? Are you out of your mind? Clyde is seventeen! What is he going to do with a baby? He's lucky Token has money, but-"

"That's it," Token said, and he headed for the stairs himself. "If you'd put 'Rag On Token About his Household Income' on that flyer I probably wouldn't have come. Later, assholes."

"Token, wait," Stan said, but Token waved him off. A few minutes later, they could hear Liane bidding them goodnight, then the front door opening and slamming shut.

"Great," Kyle said. "Really successful meeting." He kicked a chair over.

"I can't believe Craig threw a fucking brownie at the wall," Cartman said, watching as it continued to ooze slowly toward the carpet. "You guys want to watch HLN or something? Vinnie's on in fifteen minutes."

"No thanks," Stan said. "Kyle's got to see his doctors, and we've got homework."

"Don't you have daily checkups?" Kyle asked Cartman. He scoffed.

"They tried to lay that shit on me," he said. "And I was like 'ey, if I need some overpaid quacks to molest me for the good of science, I'll call you, bitches.' Fuck that. I feel fine now. I can figure out how to take care of business without their help."

"Business?" Stan said queasily.

"Dude, don't try to shove a coat hanger up your ass or anything," Kyle said.

"I'm not the one who got myself into this mess by putting things up my ass," Cartman said. "But thanks for the advice, Kyle, that's so helpful."

As Stan had suspected, the meeting was, in general, not helpful at all, despite the fact that they'd identified four more pregnant boys. Stan still thought the punch was the source of their troubles, but that didn't explain how it had gotten into the bowl at Bebe's party or how it was created in the first place. It was dark when they left Cartman's house, and Stan reminded himself not to open Kyle's door for him as they headed toward the car. He almost missed the figure in all black who was loitering at the end of Cartman's driveway, her skin as white as the snow-crusted landscape.

"Henrietta?" Stan called while Kyle climbed into the car.

When she looked up at him he realized she'd been hoping he would see her. She headed toward the car, unsmiling, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She looked cold.

"Hey," she said flatly.

"Um, hi," Stan said. "What are you doing here?"

She looked down at the snow and bit her fat lower lip, scraping away some of her black lipstick as her tooth slid over it.

"I'm, like," she said, "Pregnant. And fucking pissed off."

"Oh, fuck." Stan said. Kyle was staring at him impatiently; Stan gave him the keys so he could start running the heat. He shut the driver's side door and walked closer to Henrietta. "You saw the flyers."

"Yeah. Isn't this Eric Cartman's house, though?"

"Um. Uh-huh."

"Did his mom get pregnant again?" Henrietta asked, making a disgusted face.

"No," Stan said. "Oh, shit – you were there at Bebe's party! Did you drink some of that punch?" If it had the power to get boys pregnant, he shuddered to think what it could do to girls.

"Punch?" she said. "Um, no, like. What punch? I just hung out for like, five minutes because my dealer was meeting me there."

"Oh." The first time Stan smoked pot was with Kenny when he was twelve, but the second time was with Henrietta, when she came upon him in the woods while he was skipping school. Stan was crying – probably because of Kyle, or Wendy, or just because life looked shitty that day. Henrietta didn't ask why, just lit a joint and offered it to him after she'd dragged on it. He'd always been sort of fond of her for sitting with him in depressed silence that day.

"Do you want a ride home?" Stan asked. "Or are you going in?"

"Fuck no, I'm not going in," she said. "Cartman is an asshole."

"He sure is. I don't even know why we came."

Henrietta glanced at the car, at Kyle, who was staring at them.

"Is Wendy pregnant?" Henrietta asked.

"No," Stan said. "Just – I gotta go, but. How far along are you?"

"Six weeks," Henrietta said. "It's a fucking drag."

"Yeah." Stan wanted to ask who the father was, but he didn't. "So, you want a ride?"

"That's okay." She pushed some hair off her face. "I live pretty close. Just. Um. Bye."

She'd always been an awkward conversationalist at best. Stan watched her cross the street before climbing into the car. Kyle had the heat running and the radio going, something Sting-like playing.

"What's up with that freak?" he asked.

"Dude, really?" Stan said, flicking the lights on. "You're going to call people freaks?"

"Oh, right, because I am one! So I should sympathize!"

"No." Stan groaned. He reached over to try to touch Kyle's cheek, and Kyle slapped his hand away.

"And what was all that shit about Clyde's priorities?" Kyle asked. "He's an _idiot_ if he thinks this baby thing is going to work out wonderfully. Even with Token's money, Stan, even with – I'm so, it's just—"

"I know," Stan said, reaching over to cup Kyle's cheek. He was allowed to, this time. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to act like everything's gonna be great. I just can't see – no matter what happens – how it could be all bad as long as it's me and you."

"It being the baby?" Kyle said.

"Well, yeah," Stan said. "But I meant more, like. Life."

They went to Kyle's house, where Kyle sat through the nightly tests with the doctor listlessly, letting Terrell draw blood, prod him with a thermometer and a blood pressure cuff, and ask endless questions about how he was feeling. Stan stayed close, watching for any hint of a smile on Terrell's face. There was nothing like that, but he did move with a sort of lightness in his step that Stan deeply resented. When Terrell was finished, Stan took Kyle by the hand and brought him upstairs.

They were rarely bold enough to shower together even when they thought they had the house to themselves, considering how they'd been discovered by Randy when they were fourteen, but tonight Stan didn't care. He undressed Kyle in the bathroom while the water heated up, then peeled his own clothes off. Under the water, Kyle rested his cheek on Stan's shoulder and didn't complain when Stan just held him, not yet reaching for the soap.

"I'm scared," Kyle said. "That's what we all wanted to say, and we didn't. Even Cartman. He's scared, I can tell."

"Of course he is," Stan said. "Craig, too, the jackass. We'll – we should try it again, maybe. When everyone's calmed down."

Kyle tipped his chin up and looked at Stan, shaking his head.

"Dude," he said, softly. "I don't think calmer is the direction this is gonna go."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This chapter came fast - I invented yet another weird game they played as kids. I think this one makes more sense than previous ones, actually. Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing! New episode tomorrow...! Will it introduce canon that delegitimizes my mpreg universe? Only time will tell.

* * *

><p>Stan had a home game the next day, and he realized as he put on his jersey before school that it would be his first Friday night as a father to be. The previous Friday had been dismal, with Kyle still mysteriously ill and too lethargic to insist that they should go out and be social after Stan's game. Kyle hadn't even been able to attend, and when Stan went to Kyle's house afterward he'd been asleep, barely registering when Stan spooned up behind him.<p>

It was a relief to have Kyle healthy again and in relatively good spirits despite the disastrous meeting at Cartman's house the day before. Stan grinned when Kyle dropped into the passenger seat and opened his coat to show Stan his shirt: one of Stan's old Cows jerseys from middle school, MARSH printed on the back.

"Game day," Kyle said when Stan leaned over to kiss him. "Right?"

"Right," Stan said. "Should be interesting. My head's not exactly, you know. In the game."

"Oh, who cares?" Kyle said. "It'll be nice just to pretend things are normal for two hours." He zipped his coat up and buckled his seat belt as Stan backed out of the driveway. "You don't think Cartman will go around telling everyone who the other pregnant boys are, do you?" he asked.

"Fuck," Stan said. "Probably. We should have signed a confidentiality agreement, all of us."

Kyle snorted. "Before or after Craig started throwing brownies and half the guys ran out crying?"

"Before," Stan said. Kyle socked him in the arm and they grinned at each other. Stan wanted to ask Kyle how he was feeling, but all signs indicated he was fine, and it was nice to fake like they both weren't constantly worried about the pregnancy and its many complications.

At school, they separated for home room. There were only two senior home room classes: the kids with last names A-L and those with last names M-Z. Stan took his usual seat beside Wendy and Bebe, scanning the room for Kenny or Butters. Neither of them had arrived yet.

"Hey," Stan said when Wendy and Bebe turned to him. They both looked deeply annoyed. "What?"

"Cartman showed up at my locker this morning in a suit and tie," Wendy said. "He says he's hired a lawyer, and he's planning on suing me for child support, and that he might press criminal charges, too. Stan, what the fuck? How is this still funny to you guys?"

Stan wasn't sure what to say with Bebe listening in. He'd told Wendy not to discuss Kyle's pregnancy with anyone else, but she'd scoffed and asked him what exactly he was getting out of this prank. Her assumption was that Cartman was blackmailing him and Kyle into participating.

"If you'd just sit down with Cartman and talk, maybe he'd leave you alone," Stan said.

"Talk about _what_? He held a cross in my face the whole time he was threatening me with legal action. And he was standing in a circle of salt."

"Girl, this is what you get for sleeping with that pig," Bebe said, muttering. "I mean, letting him eat you out was one thing, but-" Wendy glared at her and she stopped talking.

"If I can just get through the next seven months, I'm leaving this fucking town and never looking back," Wendy said, turning to Stan.

"What'd I do?" he asked.

"Claimed to have gotten the boy you left me for pregnant?"

"Shh!" Stan said, and Bebe laughed.

"This is too weird," she said. "Even for you guys."

"I need to talk to you after school," Stan said to Bebe. "About your 80's party."

"Um, okay?" she said. "Why?"

"I just do."

Butters entered the classroom and Stan beckoned him over. Craig and Tweek had yet to make their grand entrance, and all of the other pregnant boys were in Kyle's home room class. Stan felt a kind of solidarity with Butters, and he was glad when Butters came to sit beside him.

"Feeling okay?" Stan asked, turning his back on Wendy and Bebe, who were whispering together.

"Sure," Butters said. He attempted a smile. "Is Kenny absent today?"

"Seems that way," Stan said as the late bell rang, Craig slipping into class at the last, most fashionable moment, as always. Tweek was close behind him, holding a large Tweak Brothers coffee with both hands. He didn't look much better than he had at the meeting yesterday. Craig gave Stan and Butters a disdainful look before taking his usual place on the other side of the classroom, beside Red and and Powder.

"You got a game tonight?" Butters asked, noticing the jersey.

"Yeah," Stan said. "I'm not really in the mood." That wasn't true, though he didn't realize it until he'd said so. He was actually looking forward to handing his full attention over to the game, blasting down the field and barreling past the opposing team's defense- "Oh, shit," he said.

"What?" Butters asked.

"Cartman and Clyde are on the team." Clyde would probably bring a doctor's note and sit out for the rest of the season, but Cartman might try to play.

"Oh gosh," Butters said, rubbing his fists together. "Do you think Eric might try to compromise his health?"

"I'll talk to him," Stan said. He turned back to Wendy. "You should come with me."

"Come with you where?"

"To make sure Cartman doesn't try to play tonight."

"Why?" Wendy asked, making a face. "So he won't do harm to my unborn child? What is the end game here, Stan? What's he trying to get from me? Can you just be on my side for once?"

"I am on your side!" Stan said, grabbing her desk. "Why would I lie to you about this?"

"Because he's got something on you! Or something on Kyle, more likely."

"Fine, forget it!" Stan turned back around, already suffering an unfriendly look from their home room teacher. "I'll talk to him myself."

At lunch time, Stan found Cartman already sitting with Kyle, Butters hunched across from them and miserably picking at a chicken salad sandwich. Cartman was talking and Kyle was earnestly listening, not snapping at Cartman or telling him how wrong he was.

"Good, you're here," Kyle said, patting the seat beside him. "Come listen to this."

"To what?" Stan asked, eying Cartman. He was wearing a tie over his jersey, something that never failed to embarrass Stan by association.

"You remember old Dr. Mephesto, right?" Cartman said.

"Yeah," Stan said. "What about him?"

"He was always doing weird genetic experiments," Kyle said. "We were thinking - well, Cartman was - what if he's behind this somehow?"

"Dude." Stan stared at Kyle, waiting for the punchline. "That guy's been dead since we were in middle school."

"Or so he'd have us believe!" Cartman said, holding up his fork, a ketchup-drenched french fry stabbed onto it. "Think about it, Stan. If you were going to try to get a bunch of teenage boys pregnant against their will, wouldn't you elaborately fake your death?"

"Why would Dr. Mephesto want to get guys pregnant against their will?" Stan asked. "Even if he wasn't dead, which he is. He was crazy and shit, but he was a pretty nice guy, wasn't he?"

"Or so he would have you _think_!" Cartman said, gesturing with the french fry until some ketchup splattered Stan's cheek.

"I know it's far-fetched," Kyle said. He picked up his napkin and wiped Stan's cheek clean. "But the whole situation is far-fetched. It might be worthwhile to think way, way outside the box."

"Precisely," Cartman said. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Listen," he said to Cartman, "You can't play tonight."

"I already told him," Kyle said. He patted Stan's leg and smiled a little, as if he was charmed by his concern for Cartman's unborn child.

"I was gonna," Cartman said, getting red. "Because, like, hello. Discount abortion. But then I thought, huh. Child support. Plus I might sue the witch for emotional distress and possibly statutory rape. A living fetus helps my case. It, you know. Makes me more sympathetic to the jury."

"Statutory rape?" Stan said. "You'd better be fucking joking."

"Wendy is eighteen, Stan!" Cartman said. "And I am a minor, corrupted by her worldly wiles. This is why these laws exist, goddammit! Look what she did to me just by opening her legs!"

"Dude, don't press charges against Wendy," Stan said. "She got early acceptance to Yale. You'd fuck it all up."

"Maybe she should have thought of that before she had sex without a condom," Kyle said, primly popping a french fry in his mouth. Stan gave him a long stare.

"Damn straight," Cartman said. "That fucking conjurer can go to Denver Community College for all I care."

"What?" Kyle said when Stan continued to stare at him incredulously. "We're all facing consequences here! Yale or not."

Kyle had also applied to Yale. He had yet to hear back.

"Shit," Stan said when he saw Kenny stalking into the lunch room, his hood pulled up and his hands shoved into his pockets. "Butters, um. Kenny's here."

"Oh, hamburgers!" Butters grabbed his tray. Stan reached across the table and took hold of Butters' wrist. Across the room, Kenny seemed to have noticed them, and he was still approaching, pushing his hood back.

"It's okay," Stan said to Butters, who was hyperventilating. "He's not going to get mad at you."

"But he didn't know this could happen!" Butters said. "I trapped him!"

"You did not!" Kyle said. "You didn't know, either. And we're all here for you, okay? We've got your back, Butters."

Kenny stared at Butters as he approached the table, and Butters got back to poking at his chicken salad, his cheeks turning pink. Stan could smell Kenny's cigarette-laced stench when he sat down across the table, beside Butters, and the tension between him and Butters was just as obvious, clogging the air as the silence persisted.

"So," Kyle said loudly. "You missed the meeting yesterday."

"Meeting?" Kenny glanced at Kyle, then quickly back to Butters. "What meeting?"

"The inaugural meeting of Pregnant and Pissed Off," Cartman said. "Inseminators are welcome, too, unless they're witches."

Kenny stared at Cartman, moving his tongue over his teeth. He looked at Butters again.

"Leopold," he said. Butters turned to gape at him.

"What're you callin' me that for?" Butters asked.

"I don't know," Kenny said. "'Cause you're treating me like a stranger?"

"Alright," Cartman said, standing. "I'm not sticking around for the graphic gay reunion sex. See you assholes later."

He waddled off, and Kyle and Stan resumed staring at Kenny and Butters, who were studying each other, Kenny stonily and Butters like he expected to be struck.

"Butters is worried that you're mad at him, Kenny," Stan said. "We were telling him that you're not."

"Don't speak for him," Kenny said, scowling at Stan. He turned back to Butters and flicked his elbow. "Dude," he said. "Are you in trouble? 'Cause of me?"

"T-trouble?" Butters touched his stomach. Kyle groaned.

"Pregnant," Kyle said, hissing it. "That's what he means. And yes, Kenny, he is."

"Let Butters say it!" Kenny grabbed Butters' arm and turned him a little, until Butters finally met his eyes. "Well?" Kenny said.

"Kenny," Butters said. Stan had never heard anyone make Kenny's name sound so tiny and fragile, like a it was a bird's egg. Butters was chewing his lip, trying not to cry. He nodded slowly and pinched his eyes shut.

"Shit," Kenny said. He touched Butters' hair, his shoulder, then pulled him into a hug. Kenny was smiling, which was strange. Stan glanced at Kyle, and he was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Butters," Kyle said. "Tell Kenny what your parents want to do with the baby."

"Dude," Stan said. Kyle shrugged. Kenny was staring at them, Butters still hugged against his chest.

"Do they want you to get rid of it?" Kenny asked. Butters peeked up at him.

"Sort of," he said, softly. "I'm gonna ha-have it and all. Just, then. Then they're gonna get him adopted, and I have to go to seminary school and become a puh- priest!" Butters ducked back down to Kenny's chest and whimpered a little, sniffling. Kenny rubbed his back.

"Well," he said. "That's not happening."

"Which part?" Kyle asked. "I mean, obviously Butters isn't going to join the priesthood, that's just stupid. But adoption makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Fuck no," Kenny said. "I know you guys think it's just the white trash talking, but I don't give a shit. What's mine is mine." He reached down to touch Butters' chin, lifting his face. "Don't you want to keep it?" he asked, whispering.

"Oh," Butters said, lifting his fists from Kenny's chest so he could press them together. "I don't know, Kenny. I'm grounded indefinitely. What's somebody who's grounded going to do with a little baby?"

"Are you guys giving yours up?" Kenny asked, looking at Stan and Kyle.

"No," Stan said.

"We haven't really talked about it," Kyle said. He gave Stan a look. "But, I mean. _Stan_."

"That's not the plan at the moment," Stan clarified. It was still hard for him to envision this baby as something that might actually be in their lives for good, but he felt responsible for protecting it, whatever happened.

"It's not _not_ the plan," Kyle said. He waved his hand at Stan dismissively and turned back to Kenny and Butters. "Anyway. At least you guys are talking now. That's good."

Butters wasn't doing much talking. Mostly he was clinging to Kenny and crying in soft little gasps and sighs, hiding his face. Kenny whispered to him for a while and ended up borrowing Stan's car keys so he could be alone with Butters. When they were gone, Kyle was silent, dragging one of Stan's apple slices through some peanut butter.

"We should wait at least three months before we make any decisions," Stan said. "To see how you feel."

"How I feel is irrelevant," Kyle said. "We can't raise a baby. Look at us. You're in your fucking football jersey. For that matter, so am I."

"So?"

"So? Really? You're not getting this? You feel like you're ready to take care of a child?"

"Well. No, but-"

Stan was glad to be interrupted by Clyde and Token, who took the vacant seats across from them, finished with their lunches and looking sullen. Clyde was in his jersey and Token was in a wrinkled button-up and jeans. They sat close, shoulders touching.

"How are you guys holding up?" Token asked.

"Fine," Kyle said. He sounded defensive. "You're not going to play tonight, are you?" he asked Clyde.

"No," Clyde said. "I brought coach a note. Cartman did, too. So now he thinks me and Cartman gave each other AIDS or something."

"Oh, Christ," Kyle muttered.

"He doesn't think that," Token said. Clyde shrugged.

"It sucks, man," Stan said.

Silence descended over the four of them, punctured only by the sound of Kyle crunching Stan's apples. It was heartening for Stan, watching Kyle eat portions of his lunch. It made him feel like a provider of some sort.

"Sorry we left in such a hurry yesterday," Token said. "It's been an emotional journey."

"We're like two weeks along," Kyle said. "The 'journey' hasn't even started."

"Why does he always have to be so negative?" Token asked, addressing this question to Stan. Kyle scoffed.

"He's just-" Stan said, squeezing Kyle's leg hard under the table. "Trying to be realistic. You can't deny that this is going to be harder for us, you know. Financially."

"Do you guys have any idea how disappointed my parents are?" Token asked.

"Yes," Kyle said. "Mine are pretty fucking depressed about this. Middle class people have expectations for their children, too, believe it or not."

"That's not what I meant," Token said, glowering at him.

"How did your parents react, Clyde?" Stan asked, hoping to derail the next blowup caused by Kyle. Clyde looked up from the table and seemed to contemplate the question for a moment.

"They didn't know I was gay," Clyde said. "They're really confused."

"They've been pretty great, though," Token said. "Nice to me and everything. My parents-" He glanced at Clyde and trailed off.

"Token's parents think I'm a gold digger," Clyde said. "Or a wizard. They think I turned him gay with my male pregnancy powers."

"Come on," Token said. He rubbed Clyde's back. "It's not that bad."

"Kyle's mom threatened to have me arrested," Stan blurted.

"She wasn't serious!" Kyle said, hitting him under the table.

"Jesus, look at Craig," Token said, and Kyle and Stan turned toward Craig's usual table, where he held court among all the best looking girls, sitting between Bebe and Red, who was in Tweek's usual spot. Tweek was at the end of the table, shuddering and holding his paper coffee cup with both hands.

"I really hope he doesn't try to go to Mexico," Clyde said as they all watched Craig pluck a hair from his sweater and flick it away.

"Is he seriously blaming Tweek for this?" Stan asked. "He can't think Tweek wanted it. He looks like he's taking it even harder than Craig."

"Oh, no one's taking it harder than Craig, believe me," Token said. "The weight gain alone is going to kill him."

"How much weight do you think we're going to gain?" Clyde asked. He already had a muffin top over his football pants, and without workouts with the team he'd lose some of his muscle. Stan felt for him; he took a moment to be privately grateful that he wasn't the pregnant one. He was looking forward to leaving it all out on the field that night, thinking about nothing more complicated than the location of a football.

"I wouldn't worry about the weight," Token said. "I just meant Craig, you know, he's really vain."

"Right," Clyde muttered.

"Cartman is going to get so fat," Kyle said, chuckling. He grabbed Stan's arm. "Oh, fuck. My mother was skinny before she had me. Well, not _skinny_, but. That's when her ass got fat! Shit, is that going to happen to me?"

"Are we gonna get tits?" Clyde asked, touching the small ones he already had.

"My doctor said lactation is possible," Token said, and Stan wanted to kick him under the table, because Kyle had gone silent with horror. "Clyde's estrogen levels are up."

"So are Kyle's," Stan said, remembering something Terrell had mentioned.

"Stan!" Kyle said.

"What?"

"Guys, we should really share any medical findings," Token said. "I know it's a little embarrassing-"

"You do not know!" Kyle said. "You're not the one with fucking estrogen spikes."

"But it's for your sake and Clyde's!" Token said, giving Kyle a hard stare. "For your health. It's scientifically and ethically responsible for us to tell each other about our experiences. It might shed some light."

"And you guys are the only normal couple!" Clyde said.

"So, what, you're asking to form a splinter group?" Kyle said. "Normal ones only? Ha!"

"It's not a bad idea," Stan said. "When Cartman's around we have to sit through his bullshit about witches, Craig is useless for anything but drama, Butters is a wreck, and Kenny is being so fucking weird."

"Well. If we're talking about ethical and scientific responsibility," Kyle said, "We have to include everyone. Drama and witches or not, their physical data is just as significant."

"So what are you suggesting, we reinstate the Pregnant and Pissed Off Society?" Token said. "Since it went so well the first time?"

"Maybe Kyle could lead the group," Stan said. "Instead of Cartman."

"Yeah, maybe," Kyle said, looking pleased.

"Right," Token said. "Kyle's positive energy is exactly what we all need."

The warning bell rang, and Stan was relieved, since he was basically restraining Kyle under the table, holding his thigh down to keep him from leaping at Token.

"I've got to get to the art room," Token said. "C'mere," he said to Clyde, and they kissed chastely on the lips. "Later, guys," Token said. He was off, and Clyde lingered.

"Would you be supportive of me leading the group?" Kyle asked Clyde as they headed toward the big trash cans by the doors that led out to the hallway.

"Um, sure," Clyde said. "Stan, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Okay." Stan glanced at Kyle, who seemed miffed. "See you in study hall," Stan said, bending down to kiss the bridge of Kyle's nose. Study hall was their only class together; Kyle had an almost fully AP schedule. Stan had tried for AP Lit and got rejected. Kyle had wanted to wage war on Stan's behalf, convinced that the decision was based only on their Honors British Lit teacher's open hatred of jocks, but Stan didn't really care too much. He was glad not to have the extra reading.

"So what's up?" he asked Clyde as they walked toward Stan's locker.

"Uh," Clyde said, glancing around. "Want to skip this period with me?"

"I can't skip on game day, dude. I'll get benched."

"Oh, right." Clyde seemed so morose that Stan was tempted to agree anyway.

"I could be a little late to class if you want to do a lap around the school or something," Stan said. "My history teacher likes me."

"Okay," Clyde said. "Yeah, let's do a lap."

It was cold outside, and Stan regretted not wearing his jacket. He tried not to wear it too much on game day, because a letterman jacket over a jersey seemed like overkill, and he didn't really want to be seen as an unabashed jock, despite having started at quarterback since the end of last season. He was just good at suspending his thought process when his adrenaline was pumping. Kyle didn't buy this explanation when Stan offered it. He thought Stan was a brilliant strategist. He'd once suggested that Stan should apply to the Air Force Academy, and ten seconds later begged him not to, because Kyle didn't want go to there, and they couldn't be apart for four years, not to mention deployment. Stan didn't want anything to do with the military anyway.

"Are you thinking about Kyle?" Clyde asked. He had the comforting quality of being present without requiring much attention, which could occasionally cause Stan to forget Clyde was there at all. They were friends, sort of. Kyle didn't like Clyde, for reasons Stan could never figure out. He was agreeable and easy to talk to, hard to dislike.

"I guess, yeah, I was thinking about him," Stan said. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Token," Clyde said. "You've got to try to talk him out of this."

"Out of what?"

"Being with me," Clyde said.

"Um. What?"

"He won't listen if I say so," Clyde said. He stopped walking, looking like he might cry. Stan really hoped he wouldn't. "He'd just think I was testing him or something, but if you said it-"

"If I said what?" Stan asked.

"That he doesn't owe me anything!" Clyde said. "It's not just the money, I know he'll give me money no matter what. It's the - kissing me in the lunch room like that. He doesn't have to do that."

"Maybe he wants to," Stan said, not in the mood for this. Never in the mood for this, really. He didn't like discussing other people's relationships. Even hearing about Kenny's longing for always-grounded Butters seemed too personal.

"He doesn't want to," Clyde said. "Token can do better than some pregnant freak boy. We both know it. I don't even think he's gay! I basically just - jumped him, that night, when I was drinking that stuff."

"Kyle basically jumped me, too," Stan said. "But, um. Token seemed pretty sober, and I got the impression that at some point he, like. Did the jumping."

"Just to get me to stop pawing him, probably!" Clyde was worked up, pacing.

"What was the morning after like?" Stan asked, longing for his history classroom and the easily ignorable drone of a lecture about Napoleon.

"Awkward," Clyde said. "We were in his bed, and he was trying to be nice about it, but I could tell, you know, he was _trying_. Like, worried about me. My feelings, I mean. He took me out for breakfast. I was red the whole time, you know - does Kyle ever, um. Fuck you?"

"What's that got to do with breakfast with Token?" Stan asked. He sort of wanted to hit Clyde for asking, but he looked so pathetic, blinking back tears.

"Well, it hurts the next day," Clyde said, muttering. "I mean. Token is big. And I kept shifting in my seat at breakfast. And we were both thinking about it. How I was sore, you know. It was awful, and now I'm fucking pregnant! I know he's dying inside, thinking about taking care of me and this baby for the rest of his life."

"Token's not dying," Stan said. He patted Clyde's shoulder. "You're being paranoid. I think he likes you."

"Why?" Clyde asked, making a horrified face. "Why would you think that?"

"Because, shit, I don't know! He hovers!"

"Hovers?"

"Like I do with Kyle." Stan groaned. "I'm cold. Let's walk."

They did, and Clyde wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, sniffling. Stan had always thought Token and Clyde were mostly straight, but he'd had his suspicions about them even before the party. Token was protective of Clyde, and he was always smiling at Clyde like he found his occasional bumbling adorable. Last year, when Clyde was on crutches after a game-related injury, Token had carried his books.

"Token likes you," Stan said when they had come all the way around to the front doors again. "He might even love you."

"Dude, don't tell me that!" Clyde said, punching Stan's arm.

"Fuck! Ow! Why not?"

"Because you're just trying to make me feel better," Clyde said. "Everyone is. You, Token, my parents. Like I'm this little kid who's going to freak out if everybody doesn't tiptoe around the truth, which is that I had a one night stand with a _dude_ and got knocked up. Shit!"

"Hey." Stan took Clyde by the shoulders. They were about the same height, but Clyde tended to slouch. "We're all overwhelmed," Stan said. "Just think about how Tweek feels, or Butters. And, hell. Cartman got pregnant by a _girl_ who thinks he's trying to play a joke on her. You're lucky that you're in this with Token. He's a good guy."

"That's what I'm saying!" Clyde said. He stumbled out of Stan's grip, sniffling again. "Token is too good for this. I wrecked his life. I'm not going to sit around feeling grateful because I know he'll be nice to me. It's fucking torture when he's nice to me!" Clyde groaned with frustration and pushed inside the school. Stan let him go, turning toward the parking lot and taking a deep breath. He was so ready for the game.

The rest of the school day dragged by, the weather outside the classroom windows persistently gray. In study hall, Stan sat at one of the back tables with his arm wrapped around Kyle, watching as Kyle made notes toward an outline for his paper on _The_ _Stranger_. Bored, restless, and beginning to think about the way they normally spent Friday nights after his games, Stan closed his teeth around one of Kyle's curls and pulled a little. Kyle smirked down at his notes.

"Don't," he said, muttering.

"Do you wear these things to make me want to fuck you?" Stan asked, tugging on the hem of his old jersey, his eyes still on the study hall monitor at the front of the room. "'Cause they do."

"Ugh," Kyle said. He frowned at Stan. "Wait, I never asked you. What did Clyde want before? Did you have your big heart to heart with him or whatever?"

"Dude," Stan said. "I don't even want to get into it right now." He'd been so close to feeling normalish. They had a tradition of covertly making each other hard during Friday afternoon study hall. Kyle scoffed.

"Now you have to tell me," he said, slapping Stan's knee with his mechanical pencil. "What did he say?"

"He was in a snit about Token."

"A snit?"

"Maybe not a snit. More like a wibbling fit of insecurity." Stan took Kyle's pencil and wrote on the margin of his outline: _he_ _asked_ _if_ _you_ _ever_ _fuck_ _me_.

"What the fuck!" Kyle said, loud enough to get a look from the monitor and several students. He grabbed the pencil and started erasing what Stan had written, flushed.

"Boys," the monitor said. Stan removed his arm from Kyle. Someone toward the front coughed _fags_ into his fist.

"Why would he ask you that?" Kyle asked in a whisper when everyone's attention seemed to have been diverted.

"He was making a point about being sore," Stan said. "Apparently Token is huge."

"Wait - _what_? Why was Clyde talking to you about this? Why not me?"

"Um. Because he can sense your deep dislike of him?"

"What! I don't dislike him. I mean, okay, I don't _like_ him. He just bores me. He's stuck in that insecure thirteen-year-old girl phase. I'm so past dealing with that."

"He's not a thirteen-year-old girl," Stan said, not sure why he was defending Clyde, who had sort of behaved like one earlier. "He's just in love with Token and he thinks he's not good enough to have him. He wanted me to ask Token to leave him."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Classic Clyde."

Stan snorted. "As if you know Clyde so well."

"Stan. Please. I've known Clyde since he ate paste."

"He did not _eat_ _paste_. I was there, okay, during the paste on popsicle sticks years. I would have remembered if Clyde had eaten some."

"I meant _figuratively_."

For some reason this conversation was making Stan want to kiss Kyle, and he could see that Kyle felt the same, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Stan looked at the monitor, who was staring down at her book again. He slipped his arm around the back of Kyle's chair, his hand sliding onto Kyle's stomach. Kyle squirmed.

"Don't," he said. He took Stan's hand and held it in his lap.

"Don't what? Touch your stomach? It's not like you have a bump."

"Yeah, but you're thinking of it," Kyle said, making a face. "You're imagining it, like. Lurking in there. You are, don't deny it."

"I was not," Stan said, though he had been. He wouldn't have chosen the word 'lurking,' anyway.

After school, Bebe found Stan at his locker. Kyle had stayed late in physics to argue for extra points on an essay question, and Stan wasn't looking forward to questioning Bebe about her punch, mostly because he didn't know how to do so without accusing her of witchcraft.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Bebe said.

"Yeah," Stan said. He had a pre-game meeting in thirty minutes. If things were normal, he would be taking Kyle out to his car to give him a pre-game fuck in the backseat. Suddenly he remembered that Kenny still had his keys, and he frowned, imagining Kenny and Butters asleep on any number of wet spots in his car. "Have you seen Kenny since lunch?" Stan asked. Bebe's eyebrows shot up.

"No," she said. "Why? Is this about him? Has he been asking about me?"

"Uh, no. I was just thinking maybe he stole my car."

Bebe rolled her eyes and flipped her hair around a little, blushing. Stan wanted to tell her to give up on Kenny. If he was smiling at the news that Butters was pregnant with his child, he probably wasn't going to jump ship for heterosexuality anytime soon.

"Then what?" Bebe said, impatient now. "I have shit to do, Stanley. Hurry up and ask whatever you need to ask. It had better not be Pregnancy-gate related."

"Pregnancy-gate," Stan repeated, slowly. "Um. Do you believe us?"

"Believe _what_, that Kyle is pregnant with your kid? That Wendy knocked Cartman up? How stupid do you guys think we are? If this is yet another demonstration of how none of you need us around, you can go fuck yourselves. Women have the ability to make new life, okay? It's one of the many things the guys at this fucked up school fail to appreciate about us. Apparently."

"Just because I'm with Kyle doesn't mean I don't appreciate women," Stan said. "And I'm with you, okay? Women give life. I respect that. I'm just trying to figure out how this happened so that Kyle can stop buying into Cartman's conspiracy theories about a dead geneticist being behind all of it."

"All of what?" Bebe asked. "Did they put something in the water that turned you all gay for each other? That's one of our theories, you know. By the way."

"Me and Kyle were gay before it was cool," Stan said. He was beginning to feel like an idiot, still not sure how to broach the subject of the punch. "We were gay when we were eight. We just didn't know it yet. We used to play squash together. And I don't mean the kind with paddles."

"Oh my God," Bebe said. She closed her eyes. "Paddles?"

"_Without_ paddles, I said. Though I guess it's more like. Racquets. But no - _squash_, you know, the kind where you try to squash into the smallest space possible together? Never mind. That punch you made at your party. Didn't you notice that everyone who drank it acted weird?"

"No," Bebe said. "I drank it. I didn't act weird. Weird like how?"

"Like. Hormonal. Remember how Token and Clyde were dancing? Since when is Clyde shameless like that?"

"Um, since every time he's ever been drunk? Remember? Token's party, the weekend before? He started crying over the _Titanic_ _3D_ preview."

"Yeah, but. Bebe. That freak dancing - that was different. He was practically giving Token a hand job in the middle of your living room."

"Am I supposed to be surprised?" Bebe asked. "Every time one of you guys goes gay, Wendy owes me twenty bucks, because I bet her that you'll all be gay married to each other by graduation. How many straight ones are even left? Cartman? Jason? Jimmy? That's three! Let's see how long they hold out!"

"Don't get upset," Stan said, the hallway almost completely empty around them now. He could see Kyle down at the other end, walking with his physics teacher, still arguing.

"Did you have a question or something?" Bebe said. "Something about me putting roofies in my punch?"

"I don't think you did anything on purpose," Stan said. "I'm just wondering if you noticed anything strange."

"Oh, anything strange, let me think." Bebe stepped back and put her finger on her chin. "Strange like all of the guys in a small town rejecting women as a group and then claiming to be able to get each other pregnant? Gee, no, can't think of anything like that! Although, you know what? If you guys could knock each other up, it'd be some poetic _fucking_ justice."

She stomped off then, nearly crashing into Kyle.

"What's her problem?" Kyle asked. His physics teacher hurried away, clutching his briefcase, seeming relieved. Kyle held up Stan's keys, and Stan pocketed them without asking when he'd seen Kenny and if he should expect stains in his car.

"Bebe was actually making some legitimate points," Stan said. "Remember squash?"

"The dry humping game?" Kyle said.

"It wasn't dry humping. It was - maybe it was _pre_-dry humping-"

"Oh, please," Kyle said. "You used to get the _special_ _feeling_, too. It wasn't just me. Remember, under the bed, when we'd inhale all that dust and just lie there stacked on top of each other, sneezing-"

"Anyway," Stan said. He wanted to fuck Kyle badly, up against the lockers, under his bed amid dust, anywhere. He was so wound up that he kept thinking about Token and Clyde and deciding that combination was actually pretty hot. "Bebe doesn't know shit about the punch. She's more interested in Kenny's opinions of her."

"Oh, God," Kyle said. He hooked his arm through Stan's as they headed down the hallway, toward the gym. "Well, I don't know why you think this Dr. Mephesto theory is crazier than the idea of Bebe putting baby juice in her punch."

"Because Dr. Mephesto is dead, mostly."

Kyle laughed and swooned against Stan, nuzzling his shoulder. "He agreed to give me a 98," he said.

"Who?"

"Mr. Young. On my Physics test. It was a 94, but he marked me down for bad penmanship. Which is obscene."

Kyle did have bad penmanship, and he'd become a surprisingly terrible speller in recent years, over-reliant on auto-correct. Stan kissed the top of Kyle's head, wondering if their kid would inherit either of these qualities. Stan wouldn't mind. There were worse things.

They made out in the shadow of the trophy case until Stan had to slip into his pre-game meeting, hard and fat-lipped, holding his balled up letterman jacket over his crotch in a hopefully casual-looking fashion. Later, in the locker room, he realized he needed a favor and approached Cartman, who was dressing out despite the fact that he'd be on the bench.

"Hey," Stan said, elbowing him. "Loan me a condom."

Cartman stared at him for almost half a minute before bursting into laughter. Stan had anticipated this. He kept his expression impassive.

"Oh, Jesus," Cartman said, still laughing, wiping at his eyes. "Afraid you'll end up with twins if you fuck the little lady without one?"

"Something like that," Stan said. "So do you have one or not? 'Cause I can ask Kenny if you don't."

"Like Kenny doesn't nail Rapunzel bareback," Cartman said. He dug around in his locker until he found his wallet. "Here," he said, slapping a garishly gold-wrapped Magnum into Stan's palm. "Think of me when he's squealing for you."

"You're sick," Stan said.

"You're welcome," Cartman said. "Just remember, you owe me a favor now."

"Yeah, add it to the list."

"Oh, I will," Cartman said. Stan didn't doubt it. He pocketed the condom and hurried to get changed.

They lost the game, but Stan still managed to enjoy himself, at least when he was running so fast that his lungs burned and his legs felt like a blur of motion, not quite solid beneath him. Though the night air was icy, Stan was dripping sweat as their coach delivered the usual post-loss dressing down. It was only November and the Cows probably weren't going to the playoffs. Stan didn't much care. He was thinking of that condom in the pocket of his jeans, in his locker.

"Any plans tonight?" Stan asked Clyde when they were in the showers. Even the boys who hadn't played were required to shower after the games. Cartman was strutting around behind them, critiquing the defense while he indiscreetly showed off his admittedly pretty big dick.

"No plans," Clyde said. "I mean. Token might come over. We might watch a movie. But nothing big."

"That sounds nice," Stan said. He checked over his shoulders. "Um, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Clyde said. He still seemed downtrodden, tired. Stan sneaked a look at Clyde's flabby stomach, imagining it bulging out with the weight of a baby.

"Have you tried anything since the conception?" Stan asked. "My doctor told us we shouldn't, in case another womb pops up, but we fucked like three times on the day after Bebe's party, and, you know. Still just one floating womb."

Clyde stared at Stan listlessly, the water beating against his chest. "You seem pretty okay with this," he said.

"Is that a no?" Stan asked, annoyed.

"No, Stan," Clyde said. He shut the shower he was using off, slapping the nozzle. "We haven't. He hasn't even kissed me."

"He has, too," Stan said. "He kissed you in the freaking lunch room!"

Clyde scoffed. "That was a pity peck," he said. "Like the kind your mom gives you when you're sick. He hasn't _kissed_ me, you know, like he wants to be in - inside me. He - just - never mind. Leave me alone."

Clyde left. Stan finished rinsing off and eavesdropped on Cartman, waiting for him to start boasting that he was going to get a huge child support payment from the local witch. He said nothing of the sort.

Kyle was waiting for Stan outside the locker room. Up ahead, Stan could see Token wrapping his fruity cashmere scarf around Clyde's neck as they headed for the exit. Stan dropped into Kyle's arms for a hug, and he lifted his hand to wave to Cartman as he passed. Cartman was sort of sneering at them, and he looked away when he saw that Stan had noticed.

"You tried your best," Kyle said, patting Stan's back. Stan laughed.

"Cartman is lonely," Stan said. Kyle pulled back and whirled around, staring at Cartman's back as he departed.

"Whose fault is that?" Kyle said.

"It's not like Wendy was going to be amenable to this even if he was super sweet," Stan said. "Sometimes I think he protects himself from disappointment by being the biggest asshole possible."

"You should tell him that," Kyle said. He took Stan's hand and pulled him toward the parking lot. "I'm sure he'd be receptive to your analysis."

"He's not all bad," Stan said. "He loaned me a condom."

"Excuse me?" Kyle stopped walking.

"What?" Stan said, sorry he'd said anything. "I thought. Maybe. You know."

"Oh, my God," Kyle said. He dropped Stan's hand and walked the rest of the way to the car in huffy silence.

"We don't have to," Stan said. He felt like sobbing at the thought of going nine months without Kyle's ass. "I could, um. We could do other stuff."

"I'm just depressed," Kyle said, peering at Stan from over the roof of the car as Stan unlocked it.

"I know," Stan said. "But sex, it might make you feel better. _I_ could make you feel better, I mean. I could rub your back, and-"

"Get in the car," Kyle said. "I need to say something."

"Oh - okay."

They both climbed in, and Stan's heart was beating fast as he waited for Kyle to speak. He thought of the weeks when they'd finally worked out their feelings for each other, the summer between seventh and eighth grade. Kyle had agonized over the possible implications for their friendship. They'd had a lot of talks. Between talking, they did a lot of desperate rutting and coming in their underwear, flies still zipped.

"I'm depressed," Kyle said, sighing, "Because I want you to fuck me so bad that my knees were shaking - did you feel that, before, by the trophy case? My knees? But, Stan! Condoms? We've never."

"I know." Stan reached over to stroke Kyle's cheek, relieved. "It'll be an adventure."

"An adventure in decreased sensation," Kyle said.

"Maybe I'll last longer."

"You last plenty long already. Just, unh! I like the feeling." Kyle blushed and played with the zipper on his coat, flicking it. "You know, um. How warm it is, and, after. When I'm, um. Full."

"Well," Stan said, hard now. "I know."

"You don't know, you don't like bottoming. It's, it's important. It's part of that closeness, that intimacy. Skin on skin."

Stan actually wasn't sure that he didn't like bottoming. He mostly didn't like how nervous and panicky Kyle got when he tried to top. Both times they'd tried it, Stan had grunted with frustration and pushed Kyle out when he started to look uncomfortable verging on upset. Both times, Kyle had sighed and nodded drowsily when Stan sunk into him, telling him to _fucking_ _relax_, _dude_, _just_ _relax_. Kyle didn't seem capable of that when he had to do the work himself. Stan wasn't complaining; he liked topping. He liked sliding naked and slick into Kyle's clinging heat, loved feeling every minuscule twitch as Kyle adjusted to him, and he wasn't happy about the condom, either.

"Are you saying you want to try it without?" Stan said. "Because I think it would be okay."

"But what if it wasn't?" Kyle said, slapping Stan's arm. He was still blushing. "What if I was the only dope who ended up with a second womb, just because I couldn't stand not having you blow your load in me for a few months."

"Nine months."

"Whatever! No, let's not. Not yet." Kyle chewed his lip for a while, staring out the window. "Maybe the condom would be okay. We'll just play it by ear. Fuck, why'd you have to tell me that you got it from Cartman?"

"Sorry."

"Now I have to picture it being squashed under his fat ass."

"Hey, speaking of squashing," Stan said. "We should play that. For old time's sake."

"Are you insane?" Kyle asked, but he was grinning.

They went back to Stan's house, and they didn't play squash. They both ate two big plates of Stan's mom's leftover lasagna and headed up to Stan's room, full and sleepy, smelling of garlicky marinara. Stan shed his jeans and stretched out in bed, watching Kyle slide out of his pants and hang them neatly over Stan's desk chair.

"I guess I do feel sorry for Cartman," Kyle said. "A little. Not that he doesn't bring disappointment on himself, like you said. But it would be so lonely. And, God, maybe I'm awful, but I sort of sympathize with Craig. What if you only had _Tweek_ to lean on at a time like this?" Kyle climbed into bed with Stan and scooted toward him, kissing him, his hand sliding up under Stan's shirt. "I'm so lucky," he said when he pulled back. "You're so -" He hugged Stan tightly, pressing his face to Stan's neck. Stan hugged back, already a little hard from the smell of Kyle, the bedsheets that hadn't been washed since the last time they fucked, and the still-churning adrenaline from the game.

"Dude, I love you, too," Stan said, and Kyle licked his neck.

"Fingers in me, please," Kyle said with a weary sigh, rolling onto his stomach. Stan reached for the lotion.

Stan put the light out before digging in, because Kyle didn't like his ass exposed to illumination of any kind. Stan thought Kyle's ass was perfect, worthy of spotlights, and he scooted down to kiss it while he administered a routine fingering, his dick aching in his boxers, because this was usually the part when he replaced his fingers with his cock. Kyle was writhing and moaning into the sheets, lifting his ass, pushing back on Stan's fingers.

"Want me to put the condom on?" Stan asked.

"Nuh- no, I don't know." Kyle whined and snapped his hips. "_Stan_."

"Yeah?"

"Ah - just. Put it in."

"What? My dick?"

"Yes, God, your big fucking dick, please, _ah_."

"With or without condom?" Stan asked, scrambling out of his shorts, one-handed, his other hand still buried between Kyle's ass cheeks. Kyle moaned.

"Ah, I don't know!" Kyle said. "Don't make me decide. Surprise me."

"Dude, seriously? This is how we're going to make decisions?" Stan thought of what Kyle had said before, about football jerseys or whatever. Stan didn't want to use the condom, and he didn't want to be the one who decided that they didn't need to. Kyle moaned and flopped down onto the bed when Stan removed his fingers. He turned his head on the pillow, peeking at Stan.

"I need you," Kyle said, panting. Stan nodded and rolled him onto his back.

"It's your body," Stan said, trying to be reasonable, his cock throbbing in his hand. "So. Do you feel like, if we did it without the condom, you'd get another womb?"

"Dude, what! I didn't feel like I'd 'get a womb' the first time, fyi!"

"So I'll use the condom!"

"No, ah." Kyle pressed his knuckles to his mouth, muffling the rest. "Don't."

"You think it'll be okay?"

"Yeah," Kyle said. He didn't sound very certain.

"We could try the condom," Stan said. Kyle made a face.

"I'd feel like some part of Cartman was in me," he said. Stan thought that was a pretty flimsy excuse, but he really didn't want Kyle to feel that way, ever, so he slicked his cock and lined up, keeping his eyes locked on Kyle's, watching for a change of heart.

"Oh," Kyle said when Stan breached him. It had been a long time, two weeks. Kyle arched into it, his head falling back, mouth hanging open.

"Yeah," Stan said, confident that this was the greatest idea ever as Kyle seemed to pull him in deeper with little squeezes, moaning.

"Stan," Kyle said, reaching for him. They locked together completely, shoulders to balls, and Stan kissed Kyle for a long time, reveling in the feeling of being this close to him, nothing between them. In the moment he was somewhat unsurprised that they'd managed to make a baby this way. It was fucking epic, the best feeling in the world, being inside Kyle and having Kyle look up at him with _gratitude_, like Stan had saved him by disappearing into him. This was why Stan had invented squash when they were kids, and why Kyle had always wanted to play it. Even then, they'd wanted to be so close they were breathing each other's air, in secret places, nobody watching, no explanation needed except that they knew that it felt right.

It was a slow, thoroughly emotional fuck, and they were both jittery afterward, curled up together under the blankets. Stan sort of wanted to sing to Kyle, but he knew Kyle didn't like that, especially after sex. He said it spoiled the mood. Stan thought of singing to their baby, someday, maybe, and tucked Kyle against his chest, afraid Kyle would see it on him and complain that he had his head in the clouds.

"How was your doctor's appointment?" Stan asked while he played with Kyle's hair, still thinking about babies and songs and how well the two might go together.

"Same as always," Kyle said. He fidgeted a little. "I asked about tits."

"Yeah?"

"Got the usual answer. 'We'll have to wait and see.' I'm starting to wonder if Cartman was right about just ignoring these fucking doctors. I don't trust them."

"You're doing a lot of thinking that Cartman is right lately," Stan said. "It's scaring me."

"Oh, shut up. I don't actually think he's right, it's just tempting to act like an asshole when you feel cornered. Shit, did we just fuck up?"

"Um? Well, we just _fucked_-"

"Goddammit, Stan." Kyle sat up on his elbow and rolled his shoulders. "Mhm. I can feel you leaking out of me. It's making me paranoid. Should – should I get up and try to clean it all out? Just in case?"

"Dude, Wendy got Cartman pregnant, and she doesn't even, uh. Have sperm. There's no rhyme or reason. I'll get you a washcloth if you want, but I think we're okay."

Stan had bad dreams that night, vague anxieties about dividing cells. In the morning, they went over to Kyle's house for his regular checkup with Terrell, and there were no signs of a second womb. They spent the weekend fucking as much as they pleased, and there was no new womb on Monday, or a week later, when Stan had to take a bus to Boulder for an away game. Meanwhile, the original womb had developed enough to warrant a new ultrasound image. Terrell accompanied them to the local doctor's office that had been processing Kyle's lab tests. The baby was still too small to see, but apparently the womb was doing great.

"I do not want this," Kyle said when the nurse handed him a picture of the womb, which looked like a microscopic image of a teardrop.

"The doctor wanted one for his records," she said, apologetically. "I know you can't see your baby yet, but I thought—"

"It's great, thanks," Stan said, to get rid of her, and because he felt guilty for Kyle's attitude. He gently removed the photograph from Kyle's hand before Kyle could do something sacrilegious like rip it up. Kyle's eyes were still trained on it while Stan held it.

"That thing is in me," Kyle said, staring at his floating womb.

"I'm sure a lot of internal organs look weird in photos," Stan said, not sure what the hell he was trying to articulate. Kyle stared at him incredulously. Stan just didn't want him to be so hard on the damn womb. It seemed to be doing the best it could.

There was vague talk of reforming Pregnant and Pissed Off under Kyle's leadership, though they would have to change the name or risk being sued by Cartman for copyright violation. Stan and Kyle mostly kept to themselves socially, though Stan got occasional updates from Clyde after practice or before a game. Cartman became suspiciously quiet and withdrawn, and he rebuffed Stan's attempts to get updates. Craig wouldn't even look at Stan when they passed in the halls, which was normal enough. Butters and Kenny met daily in Stan's car, and Kyle complained that it smelled like sex on the drive home from school, putting the window down and scowling out at the passing town while Stan explained that he just felt sorry for them. They never got to be alone together outside of Stan's backseat.

Wendy continued to believe they were all pranking her. Cartman was no stranger to elaborately long cons, but Stan was still insulted, and he'd largely stopped talking to Wendy by the time the Dateline commercials started airing.

Cartman had always been willing to sell out for fifteen minutes of fame and a check from a network television station, so Stan wasn't sure why he was surprised. Kyle insisted that he wasn't, and claimed that he wasn't even going to watch the special about the miraculous male pregnancy in South Park and the allegedly kindhearted boy who had fallen prey to the phenomenon when losing his virginity to his cruelly unfeeling childhood crush, but when Stan got home from his game that Friday Kyle had it queued up on the DVR.

"I just want to make sure he doesn't slander me," Kyle said.

The special was what they'd expected: Cartman richly full of shit, his hair combed neatly, sweater vest in place. He cried at one point, and Stan tried to find something genuine in it, which disgusted Kyle enough to send him into the kitchen for a chocolate milk refill.

In the morning, Kyle went home for his tests with Terrell. He had an ultrasound scheduled for that Sunday. The baby would be big enough to see, just under six weeks – Cartman's Dateline special had featured a picture of his baby on a video ultrasound monitor, its little half-Cartman heart pumping away.

Wendy showed up on Stan's doorstep shortly after breakfast. She didn't ring the bell, just stood there with her eyes unfocused and her arms at her sides. Stan only discovered her because he'd been on his way out to meet Kenny at Stark's Pond, where they were going to drink some and talk about Cartman's special, and possibly speculate on how much Dateline had paid for his story.

"It can't," Wendy said when Stan had lingered there for a while, waiting for her to unfreeze. "They. That can't."

"I know," Stan said. He shut the door and walked down to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She moved with him, listless. She looked like she hadn't slept, her hair in knots and her face still pale with shock.

"It's a scam," Wendy said, staring at Stan, begging him to say she was right, that the jig was finally up.

"No," he said. "It's just. It's South Park, I guess. Kyle's getting his six week ultrasound tomorrow."

"That's not—" Wendy said, her lips still moving after her voice choked off.

"I know," Stan said. "Look, um. Me and Kenny are gonna get drunk down at Stark's Pond. Want to come?"

She did, and she was mostly quiet while Kenny and Stan got progressively louder, crushing their beer cans as they emptied them. Wendy only drank a few, sipping them slowly, staring at the surface of the water.

"Why Cartman?" Kenny asked at one point, reaching over to tug on the sleeve of her coat. Wendy looked at him, her eyes clearing for the first time all day, though she still seemed slightly behind, possibly on the verge of tears.

"Remember when everyone said he ate me out on that field trip?" she said.

"Yeah," Kenny said. "I was fucking jealous. Um, of him. Not of you."

"I started that rumor," Wendy said, looking at Stan. "Because the truth was more embarrassing."

"What was the truth?" Stan asked. He wasn't trashed, just pretty buzzed, and everything looked a little brighter, even the prospect of Wendy and Cartman coming together somehow.

"The truth," Wendy said. She folded her arms over her knees and rested her chin on them. "Well. I ran into him at the vending machines in that motel where we were all staying. We both agreed that everything in the machines was shitty, and he said he could steal Mackey's keys and drive us to Arby's. And he did, you know. That's the thing about Eric. He's so full of it, he's just – all hot air, he's nothing, but then you turn around and he's, like—" She broke off there, gesturing vaguely.

"Pregnant?" Kenny said, and he laughed when Stan shoved him.

"Anyway," Wendy said, ignoring them. She seemed like she was talking to herself, as if she hadn't allowed any of this to really process before. "We ate at Arby's and we took a walk. We talked a lot, fought some, but it was good-natured, I guess because we were so far from home, and it was dark, and we'd fucking stolen a car. We were both nervous. He, um. He held my hand. We kissed. In this mostly abandoned parking lot behind the Arby's, by some laundromat, I kissed Eric Cartman. Stood on my tiptoes and let him squeeze my ass, and, Jesus, I really liked it. I was so afraid he'd tell everyone. I made up the eating-out story before he could."

Kenny was silenced by this, shockingly. He just stared at the pond, chewing on a tab that he'd yanked off his last beer can. Stan put his arm around Wendy.

"It's okay," Stan said. "Cartman, he's. It's okay if you like him."

"He can't be pregnant," Wendy said, shaking her head. "I don't care what the TV says."

Stan and Kenny didn't have to argue with that. Despite what she was saying, Wendy had accepted it, at least as much as it was possible to accept such a thing before a squirming infant was placed in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking under Stan's arm. He took her beer from her and threw back the last lukewarm dregs before passing her another.

"Here's to the next generation," Kenny said, opening a beer for himself. "May they know fewer witches than we did."

"Witches?" Wendy said, frowning.

"Don't – just, no," Stan said, to both of them, and he opened another beer.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Getting close to the actual Night School portion of the story, yay! I think I largely failed to respond to reviews this week, but I do appreciate them a lot, and all who are reading!

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><p>At Thanksgiving, no one in the extended Marsh or Broflovski families was informed about Kyle's situation. Even Shelly wasn't told when she came home from college for the holiday. Randy and Sharon both went tense when Jimbo brought up the Dateline story at Thanksgiving dinner.<p>

"That's your little friend Eric, isn't it?" Jimbo said, kind of drunk and holding a turkey leg, his lower lip greasy from the fried skin. "The one who's telling the whole world he's pregnant?"

"He is pregnant," Stan said testily. He'd been kept away from Kyle all day because of family activities, and it was beginning to wear on him. Their codependency had reached new levels in the past month.

"Well, how do you like that," Jimbo said. "And they say a girl's the one who done it?"

"Sh'yeah," Randy said, more than a little drunk himself. "Can you imagine? Getting pregnant by a girl, that's no fun. That's, like, the opposite of being manly enough to get another guy pregnant. I'd say."

"Randy!" Sharon said.

"I suppose you're right," Jimbo said, seemingly unperturbed by this observation, and dinner continued in silence.

Regular season football ended for Stan a week later, and he was relieved not to be heading into the playoffs. Cartman claimed that this was entirely because of his lack of participation in their last four games, and Stan let him rant about this on their bus ride home from Fairplay until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you going to talk to Wendy anytime soon?" he asked, cutting Cartman off in the middle of something about the long line of Denver Broncos who had fathered him. Stan withheld the obvious joke about Liane.

"Wendy?" Cartman said. "That bitch can talk to my lawyers."

"Stop calling her a bitch." Stan had been trying to persuade Wendy to speak to Cartman civilly, but for the first time since Stan had known her, Wendy was petrified with fear, afraid to act. She'd been jumpy since the Dateline special had aired, and if Cartman gave her grief as they were passing in the halls at school she just stared at him, or flinched.

"Oh, sorry," Cartman said. "What would you call a girl who got you-"

"Wendy didn't do it on purpose!" Stan said. He was tired, had a slight headache, and it would be an hour before he could crawl into his bed, where Kyle was waiting, warm and undressed and too far away at the moment. "I'm so tired of this fucking conversation," Stan said, speaking to the back of the seat in front of him more than to Cartman. "Do you think I got Kyle - um? On purpose? No. If you would stop trying to place blame for ten seconds you might see that Wendy is really freaked out, too."

"She should be freaked out," Cartman said. "She's going to be paying me restitution for the rest of her miserable hippie life."

Stan turned away from Cartman and stared out the window. He'd debated whether or not to tell Cartman what Wendy had confessed to him and Kenny at Stark's Pond that day, but ultimately Cartman was just too much of an asshole to be trusted with Wendy's true feelings, and if she wanted to tell him, that was her choice.

The bus dropped them off in the school parking lot. It had been snowing hard for hours, and it took Stan almost twenty minutes to get his windshield clear. He was blinking heavily by the time he was on the road, his ass aching from a hard takedown in the third quarter. The only thing on the radio was Christmas music, the shitty Top 40 stuff that Kyle listened to on the way to and from school, and country. Stan flipped it off and drove along with only the sound of the wipers swishing snow from his windshield.

His feet felt like cinderblocks by the time he made his way up the stairs and into his bedroom. Kyle was there, and the relief Stan felt at the sight of him, curled up on his side in the shirt Stan had worn to school on Thursday, one shoulder peeking out from under the blankets, was such that Stan felt like he might cry, his headache pounding violently between his temples now. As he undressed, he allowed himself to imagine returning to a screaming baby and Kyle in frustrated tears, snapping at Stan for leaving him alone all night. Stan headed for the bed, reassuring himself that it wouldn't be like that. One of their mothers would help out, at the very least. Maybe.

"Hey," he whispered as he slipped under the blankets and sidled up to Kyle, hugging him from behind. Kyle moaned and groped for Stan's hand.

"Did you win?" Kyle asked, his eyes still closed.

"No."

"Nn. Good." Kyle was mostly asleep, not really listening. Stan rubbed his nose against the heat of Kyle's neck, and whispered apologies when Kyle cried out and cringed. "You're all cold," he said.

"You're so warm," Stan said, curling in tighter and burying his nose in Kyle's curls. He was almost asleep when Kyle reached back to cup his ear.

"Hey," Kyle said. "Was that your last game? Ever?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "I guess so." He'd been ready for the season to end, but thinking of it that way depressed him. He wasn't good enough to play competitively in college, though some po-dunk schools might let him start. None of those schools fit with his plan to go to CSU with Kyle, or with his plan to raise the child Kyle was carrying, for that matter.

"That's sad," Kyle said. His hand dropped away from Stan's ear, thumping on the mattress. "I should've gone."

"Nah. It's snowing, fucking miserable out there. And we lost. I landed right on my ass in this one tackle. My tail bone's fucking bruised or something."

"Poor Stanny," Kyle said, rolling over. He wrapped his arms around Stan's neck, and Stan scooted down to rub his face between Kyle's mostly nonexistent little pecs. They already seemed a bit softer, but he would never say so to Kyle, and it was possible that he was just imagining things. Despite his preference for male anatomy in all between-the-legs matters, he did still have a fondness for boobs.

"So what would our kid call us?" Stan asked, because he'd been thinking about this, and was too timid to bring it up when Kyle was fully conscious. Referring to him as 'Stanny' was something that only happened when Kyle was half asleep and therefore incapable of embarrassment.

"Call us?"

"Yeah. We can't both be 'dad.' Right?"

"Oh, God," Kyle said, apparently awake enough to find this concern ridiculous. "They can call us Kyle and Stan, can't they?"

"Dude, no. I mean. I wouldn't want my kid to call me _Stan_."

"What would you want him to call you?" Kyle asked. He tensed up a little, and Stan sighed.

"I don't know. All I can think of is Dad and Daddy. Everything else seems weird. Father? That's awful. Papa makes me think of a bear. A gay bear."

Kyle snorted, laughing. He stroked Stan's hair for a while, and Stan lay there feeling anxious, waiting for him to chime in on the subject.

"If you think they're gonna call me Mom you're a lunatic," Kyle said.

"No, wasn't thinking that." Stan hid his grin against Kyle's chest. It was the first time Kyle had ever spoken as if the baby he was carrying would someday be in their lives. Even when they saw its little heartbeat on the monitor at six weeks, Kyle's reaction had primarily been nausea. He hadn't eaten for the rest of the day. Stan had gotten emotional, but he mostly held it in until he was alone in the shower, sobbing with his fists pressed over his mouth, not sure if he was happy or horrified.

"The things you worry about," Kyle said. Stan wasn't sure how to interpret that. He fell asleep imagining that Kyle's chest smelled a little sweeter than it normally did, even through his shirt.

Christmas and Hanukkah came and went, and Terrell announced that Kyle's condition had stabilized enough to reduce his checkups to three times weekly. Kyle broke down into tears of relief before Terrell could finish explaining his reasoning.

"Dude," Stan said, ushering Kyle upstairs after his outburst, which had been intense but brief. "I didn't know those checkups were stressing you out so much."

"I hate doctors," Kyle said. "Especially him. He smells like - I don't know, like feta cheese or something, what the fuck is that? Oh, God, I just want this to be over." He flopped onto Stan's bed, face first, and Stan climbed on top of him, mounting him protectively.

"When it's over, you know," Stan said. "We'll have the baby."

Kyle was quiet for a long time. Stan kissed the back of his neck, afraid of what he might say.

"Can I borrow a sweater?" Kyle said. "It's freezing in here."

Stan was relieved and disappointed in equal measure. He took off the sweater he was wearing and watched as Kyle sat up and put it on. Kyle avoided Stan's eyes and went to the computer. Stan considered pressing him, then decided it wouldn't be a good idea. Kyle had burst into tears just ten minutes ago, and crying was rare for him. Stan picked up the cheap acoustic guitar he kept in Kyle's room and fooled around with it while Kyle looked up something about federal grants. Lately he'd been researching the possibility of using his condition to apply for special needs scholarships.

School resumed after winter break, and Stan was disappointed to learn that he'd ended up in the morning study hall, while Kyle still had the afternoon slot. This meant they had no time together during the day. Kyle's AP schedule was rigid, and Stan tried to switch his elective from Computer Science to Home Economics so that he would end up in Kyle's lunch shift, but the class was full and the registrar was short with him when he begged. He thought about bringing up his extenuating circumstances, which he felt made a good case for his dire need of some training in cooking and sewing, but as far as the school knew, Cartman was the only boy who was pregnant.

"How are we going to come out?" Stan asked when he was at Kyle's house after their first day back. They were sitting on Kyle's bed, Kyle doing homework and Stan fretting in silence, his Lit book open to the first page of _King_ _Lear_.

"Come out?" Kyle said. "To who, people at college? I don't know, I imagine they'll figure it out when they see us holding hands or whatever."

"No, I meant about you being pregnant," Stan said. "At school and stuff, eventually. You know?"

Kyle looked sort of crushed, and he frowned when Stan slipped an apologetic arm around him. He returned his eyes to his homework.

"Don't make me think about that," he said.

"I'm just saying-"

"Please, okay, I'm trying to concentrate!" Kyle said, turning red as he scowled down at his trig problems.

Annoyed, Stan attempted to read the play, listening to the angry scratch of Kyle's pencil. After two pages he gave up and went to the computer to read the Spark Notes.

"That's so lazy," Kyle said when he noticed what Stan was doing. Stan's only response was a one-shoulder shrug. "It's actually a good play," Kyle said after a long pause.

"I don't like reading that stuff," Stan said. "I like talking about it in class, I like the _stories_ and shit. Just, I can't. It doesn't hold my attention."

"We could read it together," Kyle said, guilty-sounding. "Out loud, you know, um. If that would help."

"This is fine," Stan said, still staring at the computer.

"Well, if you're just going to sit over there using the internet to cheat yourself out of actually enjoying a good play, why don't you go do it at your house?"

Stan turned around and stared at Kyle, incredulous. Kyle was still red, his knuckles white around his pencil.

"Fine," Stan said, getting up. "I'll go."

"It's like - what do you want, to send out announcements or something?" Kyle asked, suddenly shouting. "How are we going to _come_ _out_, Stan, really? Probably by me having your huge fucking baby living in my stomach for all to see, just a guess."

"You sound like Cartman!" Stan said.

"_What_?"

"Like you're mad at me about this, I don't know! I'm sorry, okay? I wish it was me getting fucked with by doctors and having to walk around with the-" He made a round belly gesture at his stomach. "And I wish it was me because I - I wouldn't-"

"You wouldn't what, you wouldn't be mad and humiliated and not want to talk about it?" Kyle kicked Stan's Lit book off the bed, the pages slapping together like something that had splattered when it hit the floor. "Yeah, you're right, you would be all happy like this and wanting to tell people if it was you, I'm so fucking sure."

"I didn't say I wanted to tell people-"

"Well, you do, you're just like your idiot father! You're a little bit proud of yourself for doing this to me, I can fucking tell!"

"Fuck you, I am not!"

"Boys!" That was Sheila, throwing open Kyle's bedroom door. "What's going on in here?"

"Nothing, God, stay out of it!" Kyle said. He brought his Trig book up to cover his face and started sobbing into it pitifully. Stan crossed the room in two strides, hurrying to him. Their fights always progressed this way: Stan accused Kyle of acting like Cartman and/or Sheila, Kyle came back at him with a Randy accusation, one of them broke down and the other ended up cradling him and whispering apologies. Stan rocked Kyle in his arms as he did so, and Sheila lingered in the door way, hands on her hips, sighing dramatically.

"Kyle," she said. "That's it. I'm putting you in counseling."

"No!" Kyle said, peeling the book away from his wet cheeks. "Half my life is doctors as it is, I don't need another one!"

"You need to be in therapy!" Sheila said. "No one could be expected to deal with this without some professional help!"

"I hate professionals!"

"Kyle, you want to _be_ a doctor!" Sheila said. "Or is that not in your plans anymore?"

"I want to be one so I can be a less shitty one than all the shitty shitheads who've ever treated me!" Kyle grabbed at Stan and cried against his chest, his whole body bouncing with sobs. Stan just held him, feeling like he was in some sort of Shakespearean tragedy himself. Sheila gave him a nasty look and left the room muttering about teenagers.

Typically they would have rough makeup sex after a fight like that, but Stan wasn't in the mood, and Kyle didn't seem to be, either. He laid against Stan's chest for a long time, sniffling and running his fingers along the top of the pocket on Stan's shirt. Stan wasn't sure what to say. They'd finally talked about the pregnancy - sort of - and everything that he'd been holding in had come out all wrong.

"Would you take me to Bennigan's?" Kyle asked.

"Of course, dude. Do you think your mom will let you go out?" Sheila had cooked some sort of meal; Stan could smell onions.

"She doesn't own me," Kyle said. "Fuck her. I'm a mother now myself." He scoffed angrily and sat up, his face still puffy and red.

"Kyle-" Stan said, but that was all he could come up with. He watched Kyle slide out of bed and go to his dresser mirror.

"Fuck," Kyle said, staring at himself. "Look at me. I can't be seen at Bennigan's like this."

"I could pick up something for you to go," Stan said, feeling useless.

"No, I'm not even hungry," Kyle said. "I just want to get out of here, away from my parents, away from - just _away_."

"Away from me?" Stan asked, still feeling tender. Suddenly he wanted the sex, though maybe not the rough sort. Kyle turned and stared at him, his bottom lip quivering.

"No," he said, softly. "Not away from you. I'm sorry. Fucking - read Spark Notes if you want to, I don't care."

Stan got up and crossed the room, allowing Kyle to pretend that their fight had actually been about _King_ _Lear_. He gave Kyle a long hug, watching from over the top of Kyle's head as his screensaver kicked into effect. It was the same one he'd had since he was nine, a neon green declaration that this was KYLE'S COMPUTER bouncing around the screen.

"I'm sorry, too," Stan said. "I won't tell anyone until you're ready."

"Thanks," Kyle said, his voice tiny, buried against Stan's shoulder.

At school, rumors were flying about who the pregnant boys were, because Cartman's Dateline special had mentioned five cases that had popped up in South Park. The special hadn't discussed the fact that Cartman was the only one who had gotten pregnant by a girl, so the assumption was that only heterosexual couples were involved in this reverse biological phenomenon. Cartman was pretending not to know who the other four were for the purposes of running a betting pool that he would eventually win.

"Have you talked to Cartman yet?" Stan asked Wendy one afternoon in Computer Science class, after watching her listlessly play solitaire during a lecture. It wasn't like her to ignore a teacher. She also looked like she hadn't trimmed her split ends in a while, something Stan only noticed because she'd obsessively examined the ends of her hair while they were dating and he'd finally asked her why.

"I don't know what I'd say," Wendy said. "And even if I came up with some wonderful speech, he'd just rail at me and call me a witch."

"Do you still have feelings for him?" Stan asked. She glared at him. "What?" It was a legitimate question.

"It's complicated," she said. "I think - this is awful, but I think it's just sexual attraction. I don't like him as a person."

"Oh." Stan was disappointed by this for some reason. "But you said-" He tried to remember the wording exactly. "At Stark's Pond, that thing he has, how he's full of shit but then not really, sometimes."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Charisma," she said. "He has it when he wants to. Hey." She touched Stan's wrist. "How's Kyle doing?"

"He's okay," Stan said. "He, um. Never mind."

"What?" Wendy asked, but Stan just shook his head and nodded to the teacher, who seemed to have noticed that they were talking during her lesson. It was a lucky break, because Stan had almost told Wendy something that he realized he should really only say to Kenny.

"Can I ask you something?" Stan said when he was handing off his keys to Kenny before study hall. He was still meeting Butters in Stan's car during their lunch period, and Stan had grown accustomed to his car smelling like sex. Kyle claimed to hate it, but he was always as anxious to fuck as Stan was once they got up to his or Stan's room after school, and Stan suspected that it had something to do with both of them spending the whole ride home thinking about Kenny fucking Butters and what methods they might be using to keep their come from leaking onto Stan's backseat.

"What's up?" Kenny asked, clearly anxious to go do that.

"Uh. C'mere." Stan brought Kenny away from the crowd in the hall, toward the bathrooms.

"Everything okay?" Kenny asked.

"Yeah," Stan said. "Um, how are you?" He felt like he'd been ignoring most of his friends in recent weeks, in favor of attending to Kyle's moods. It wasn't so different from how things had been before the pregnancy, except that now Stan actually wanted to talk to other people - the other fathers, anyway. He needed some perspective.

"I'm fine," Kenny said shortly. "What's up? Butters is waiting for me."

"I was just wondering," Stan said, looking up and down the hallway, which was beginning to clear as the warning bell rang. "Does Butters, um. Have there been any - changes? Physically?"

"Oh." Kenny grinned, his mood immediately lifted. "You mean in this region?" He gestured to his chest.

"Yeah." Stan said, flushing. He hadn't mentioned it to Kyle yet, because he wasn't sure that Kyle had even noticed, and if he had, it was certainly one of those things that he wouldn't want to talk about. It was a minuscule change, just a slight softness, but Stan was fascinated by it. "I think they're getting bigger," he said, his cock jumping in his boxers just from saying so. Kenny smirked.

"Butters, too," he said. "Oh, shit. I'm in heaven. It was the only thing missing, and now, bam. I can't stop rubbing my face on them. He's all - you know, sensitive, too, does Kyle have that?"

"Uh," Stan said, beginning to regret this, mostly because he was getting hard. "Yeah." Kyle's nipples had always been on the sensitive side, and Stan had thusly paid them their due attention, but now Kyle would gasp and moan and pull away if Stan lingered there too long, which only made Stan want to linger more.

"I'll tell you something," Kenny said, moving closer. "The sex has been fucking amazing. I mean, it was always good, but now it's like - we're so _connected_, you know? Like, his body, just - there's a piece of me _in_ _there_, all the time."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Stan said, making a face. "Kenny, fuck. What is up with you? Are you actually happy about this?"

"Fuck no," Kenny said. "But only because it means I can't climb through his window anymore. I know we don't have any money, and his parents are gonna disown him when they find out that we're not giving it up for adoption, but that's probably for the best."

"Wait, what?" Stan said. "Butters wants to keep the baby now, too?"

"He doesn't know what the hell he wants. You know him." Kenny rubbed his fists together. "His parents have made him fucking terrified to make his own decisions about what to eat for lunch, forget about planning for his future. But you can't tell me that once you put our baby on his chest he's going to sign some papers to give it up. He's gonna fall in love with the kid, and I'm gonna be there, supporting him."

"So basically, you guys aren't talking about it, either," Stan deduced. Kenny shrugged.

"What's to say? We'll be alright. I'm surprised Kyle isn't making charts and shit, though."

"Charts?"

"Or drafting up a diaper budget or something," Kenny said. He looked down at Stan's keys and flipped them around on the key ring a few times. "What are you gonna do if he takes one look at the kid and wants to sign the papers?"

"Adoption papers?" Stan said. "He wouldn't - he won't. He'll fall in love, too."

"Here's hoping," Kenny says. "Seems like you already have."

"What - with the baby?" Stan shuffled, embarrassed. "I don't know. I mean. It's not even a person yet." The baby was what he thought about when he wrote songs now, though.

"You've totally got a name picked out," Kenny said. "I can see it."

"I do not!" He thought of the baby as Elway, but it wasn't like Kyle would agree to actually name him that. He'd want some Jewish name like Simon, or a fussy old-fashioned name like Harriet, if it was a girl. Kenny was still grinning, as if he could hear Stan's thoughts. Stan punched his shoulder.

"I'm off," Kenny said, twirling the keys. "Butters awaits."

"Tell him I said hello," Stan said. "You know, we should all get together sometime soon. I know Butters is grounded all the time, but he could tell his parents that he was staying late at the library or something."

"Like we've never thought of that one," Kenny said. "I don't know, man. We'll try."

Craig and Token were both in Stan's study hall period, and they normally didn't sit together. When Stan walked in and saw them talking at the back of the room, voices lowered and expressions surly, he invited himself to join them, pulling a chair up to their table. They stopped talking and stared at him.

"Hi," Stan said. "Everything alright?"

"What is this?" Craig asked. He sneered at Stan, then at Token. "A fucking intervention?"

"No," Token said. "I haven't talked to Stan."

"Talked to me about what?" Stan asked.

"Token was just informing me that I'm mistreating Tweek," Craig said. "As if he'd fucking know. You can both go to hell."

"Wait," Stan said when Craig started to get up. "Let's - can we talk? The three of us? Civilly, for a minute?"

"That's what I was trying to do," Token said. "I wasn't preaching to you, Craig, Jesus. I'm just saying, as a friend, maybe you should examine the way Tweek is responding to your handling of this situation."

"Can you fucking believe this guy?" Craig said, to Stan. "My handling of the situation? Oh, fuck, what would you know about it?" Craig looked up at the ceiling. "Neither of you assholes knows what this feels like."

Craig was wearing a baggy sweater, and Stan was forced to wonder if he had budding A-cups that he wanted to hide. Annoyingly, he found the thought arousing. It was nothing to do with Craig - it was _Kyle_, and just the thought of those soft, pleasantly fragrant _pillows_ for his tender little nipples- Stan pressed his knees together under the table.

"I'm not sitting here saying I know what it feels like," Token said. "I'm saying that I know something about how Tweek feels, okay, and I'm telling you, sitting where me and Stan are - it doesn't feel great."

"You're just saying that because you're stuck with Clyde," Craig said. "Stan's fucking joyful, look at him."

"I'm not joyful!" Stan said.

"I'm not stuck," Token said. He seemed to want to shove Craig, but restrained himself. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, pot, meet the fucking kettle," Craig said. He scowled. "I didn't mean that in a racist way."

Token rolled his eyes. "It's different with you and Tweek, anyway," he said. "You're sort of, I don't know. In charge. He looks to you for, uh. Leadership. I don't have to be a fly on the wall in your bedroom to see that."

"You're not still trying to go to Mexico or whatever, are you?" Stan asked. Craig gave him the long, expressionless stare that he'd been known for since he moved to South Park in first grade.

"How the fuck am I going to get to Mexico?" Craig asked. "My family uses food stamps, you asshole."

"Sorry," Stan said, though he wasn't sure he meant it. He wondered how Craig managed to wear such nice clothes, though apparently he made his own pants. The fabric, at least, had to be expensive. "I just meant, you know," Stan said, glancing around. "Are you still thinking about, uh. Getting a procedure."

"Thinking about it?" Craig said. "Constantly. Finding a way to do it? No. And I'm reaching the legal limit in a few weeks."

"Shit, that's right," Token said. "You guys are almost three months along."

"I've given up," Craig said glumly. "So excuse the fuck out of me if I'm not a ray of sunshine for the person who got me into this situation."

"You're never a ray of sunshine," Token said. "But you can't just shut him out like this. He wants to be with you. He wants to go to your doctor's appointments and stuff."

"I'm not going to the doctor," Craig said.

"At all?" Stan said.

"Fuck no. I don't need that noise. If my ass starts bleeding or something, I'll go. Until then, I'm just winging it."

"Winging it," Token said dryly. "You're not still drinking, are you?"

"No," Craig said. "But only because I no longer trust myself to consume alcohol. Look where it's gotten me."

"You can't drink soda, either," Token said. Craig glared at him.

"Fuck you, don't tell me what I can and can't do! And I don't drink that shit, anyway, it's fattening."

"Alright," Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Um, Token. You remember how you said we should all share developments and stuff?"

"Yes," Token said. "Why, do you have some developments?"

Stan considered bringing up Kyle's tits, and decided against it, mostly because Craig might take offense.

"Kyle won't talk about it," he said instead, his voice wavering a little from the weight of that statement.

"Won't talk about what?" Craig asked, and Token seemed confused, too.

"The preg- the whole thing," Stan said. He checked to make sure no one was listening. They all seemed to be busy with their own shit. "I try to bring it up," Stan said, turning back to Token and Craig, "But he just gets mad."

"Maybe he thinks you're being an asshole about it," Craig said.

"I'm not being an asshole," Stan said. "I'm doing everything I can to be there for him."

"Sometimes that sets Clyde off," Token said. "If I try to do too much. He thinks I'm patronizing him or something."

"Do you talk about what it will be like after, though?" Stan asked. "Um, when the baby comes?"

"Well, we've made plans," Token said, frowning. "I was going to go to California to school, to Stanford, but we can't do that now. We'll both go to CSU."

"Why should Clyde go to college?" Craig asked. "He hates school. He'd rather stay at home all day watching cartoons with some baby, trust me."

"He can do that if he wants," Token said. "But what we've talked about is college."

"Let me guess," Craig said. "You did most of the talking? All of the talking? Clyde just sat there nodding like a kicked puppy?"

"Well, what-" Token broke off there, flustered. "If I ask him what he wants to do, he just says I should decide, since I'm paying for everything. It's so unfair, how you guys throw that in my face. I never thought Clyde would."

"Clyde's just feeling insecure," Stan said, not sure if he should say this in front of Craig, though Craig knew Clyde pretty well and had probably already guessed as much. "He, um. We talked. He said you guys weren't really together before this."

"Yeah," Craig said, laughing. "Awkward."

"It doesn't matter," Token said. "We're together now, and – quit looking at me like that!" he said to Craig, who was still laughing a little. "I love Clyde, alright? He's my best friend, and, that night. I was really fucking happy that he wanted to, uh. Be like that, finally. Now to find out that it was just because of some magic lust potion he drank is pretty shitty, so don't act like I'm sitting over here with everything all figured out."

Craig stopped laughing, and he looked down at his binder when Token stared at him. Stan touched Token's shoulder.

"Hey," he said. "Clyde really likes you. He told me—"

"I thought we were talking about Kyle?" Token said. "You said he's not dealing with this at all?"

"Not really," Stan said. "Kind of like Craig."

"Hey, fuck you!" Craig said, flipping him off. "I shouldn't have to deal with any of this shit. I didn't do anything wrong."

"None of us did," Token said. "But we're still stuck with what happened. So what's your plan?" He elbowed Craig. "Since you've given up on finding a doctor who'll, uh, operate?"

"My plan is to sit on my ass and see what happens," Craig said. "If getting fucking pregnant has taught me anything, it's that planning for the future is for suckers. I had plans, okay, Token? I was going to move to New York with Tweek and we were going to fuck our way to the top of the fashion industry. It was going to be fantastic, but now we're stuck in this heteronormative domestic nightmare, in fucking South Park, and our parents have teamed up together to try to force us to get married."

"You don't want to marry Tweek?" Stan asked. Craig rolled his eyes.

"I want to conquer the world with Tweek," Craig said. "We had so many ideas. Marriage is for small minded saps like you and Kyle. And for that matter, so are babies."

"Adoption, then?" Token said. "There's nothing wrong with it, you know, and Tweek would probably be relieved."

"His parents want to adopt it," Craig said, shifting. "And so do mine. My parents think Tweek's parents are horrible and don't know the first thing about raising a child, and Tweek's parents think the same about mine. And they're both right."

"I thought they wanted you and Tweek to get married?" Stan said.

"That's Plan A," Craig said. "Plan B is that they fight over who gets to screw the kid up."

"It's your choice who to give your baby up to," Token said. "You could pick another family."

"Strangers?" Craig barked, frowning. "Yeah, well." He shrugged violently. "If the thing comes out with a beak, maybe I'll think about it."

"You might love it even if it has a beak," Stan said. He knew he would. He'd protect his little beak baby from the hateful stares of ignorant onlookers for the rest of its life. Kyle might be less enthusiastic.

"That's like saying I might love a scarf even if it was neon orange," Craig said. "I know what I love. Aesthetics are important."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Token said. "And our babies don't have _beaks_, okay? We might not be able to know the sexes yet, but my doctor has the best ultrasound technology available, and we've seen clear pictures of a normal human baby."

"Maybe the beak develops in the second trimester," Craig said, and he smirked at Stan and Token's outraged looks. "Whatever," he said, standing when the bell rang and the rest of the students bounced from their seats. "I'm just maintaining a realistic outlook. You two are setting yourselves up for disappointment."

"Oh, right," Token said. "Someone who planned to just show up in New York and seduce his way into the fashion industry wouldn't know anything about setting himself up for disappointment."

"Irrelevant now," Craig said, his face falling back into the usual mask of indifference. "Later, assholes."

Token sighed when Craig was gone. "Well, that was pointless," he said.

"I have to get to history," Stan said, getting up. He had a test that he hadn't even started studying for yet; he was hoping to cram for a full three minutes before class. "But can we talk again? Maybe you and Clyde could come out with me and Kyle this weekend. It might help."

"Like a double date?" Token looked incredulous. "I don't know," he said. "Things have been a little tense lately."

"I know," Stan said. "But if Clyde sees that Kyle is going through the same insecurity, it might—"

"He's not, though," Token said. "It's not the same for you two. You were going to stay together anyway. Now Clyde's stuck with me."

"Oh, fuck," Stan moaned, glancing at the clock. "He said the same thing about you."

"Whatever," Token said. "We can meet up, sometime, with the other guys. But I'm not going out on some date just so you and Kyle can sit there feeling superior about your relationship."

"Jesus Christ!" Stan said. "Forget I offered!"

"Wait, sorry," Token grumbled, grabbing Stan's arm when he tried to storm away. "Sorry, that was dickish. I'm just really tired, really fucking – stressed."

"Yeah, me too," Stan said, pulling his arm free. "Good thing I have my superior relationship and you have your money. Obviously they make all problems go away."

"C'mon, man," Token said. "I'm sorry. But what do you say to getting the whole group together? Maybe even Wendy."

"I'll put the idea to committee," Stan said, meaning Kyle, and he left.

After school, Stan drove Kyle home in the sex-smelling car as usual. Stan was quiet and Kyle was preoccupied with the radio, switching from Katie Perry to Coldplay to an old Counting Crows song on the light rock channel. Stan reminded himself for the hundredth time to find the wire that hooked up his mp3 player to the car stereo, though Kyle was ruthless when it came to Stan's taste in music, complaining that everything was too sad, too emo, too 'guitar-y.'

"I talked to Token and Craig today," Stan said when they were up in Kyle's room, shrugging off their coats and untying their boots. It was miserably icy and already growing dark outside, and Stan was glad that Kyle didn't have a doctor's appointment. He was ready for their pre-homework fuck and, even more, for the post-fuck cuddling, when Stan would discreetly scoot down and nuzzle Kyle's chest until Kyle got fed up and reached for his books.

"What did they want?" Kyle asked, stripping off his pants and socks.

"Token was lecturing Craig about being nicer to Tweek," Stan said. "Apparently Craig had been planning to run off with Tweek to New York and whore himself or something."

"Hardly surprising," Kyle muttered. He seemed to be in a bad mood, and he wormed under the blankets on his bed as he was more interested in settling in for a nap than a fuck.

"Aren't you going to take off your shirt?" Stan asked, pulling his own undershirt off along with his sweater.

"Why?" Kyle asked. "I'm cold."

"Oh. I just thought – do you want to have sex?"

"Yes. I can do that with my shirt on."

"Oh."

"So they're doing okay, though?" Kyle asked, moving over to make room for Stan. "Token and Clyde?"

"Well – no, I don't think so." Stan ran his hand over Kyle's stomach and down to his underwear, cupping the comforting heat of Kyle's soft cock and balls in his palm, wishing that he could lean down to lick a nipple while he did. "Token was saying, um. Clyde hasn't been very willing to talk about the future."

"That's funny," Kyle said. "Since he lucked out there."

"What do you mean?"

"Clyde is set for life," Kyle said. He was still soft, despite Stan's efforts.

"I'm gonna take care of you," Stan said, insulted.

"How – oh, God, let's not fight," Kyle said. He rolled against Stan and inhaled deeply. "Will you just fuck me? I'm freezing. I've been freezing all day, okay, without you, and. I just want to feel warm, please."

They had sex, and Stan took a long time to finish, distracted. Kyle didn't seem to mind, and he even let Stan reach up under his shirt and play with his nipples, his slightly pained little moans finally sending Stan over the edge.

"Token wants to get the group back together," Stan said when Kyle was typing furiously on his laptop, still naked under the blankets, still wearing his shirt. Stan had his chin on Kyle's shoulder as he watched Kyle's paper on journalism during the French Revolution take shape.

"The group?" Kyle said.

"The pregnant group, yeah. He said Wendy could come, too."

"Oh, Christ." Kyle looked at Stan, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. "You know what that would turn into. Wendy and Cartman, an unnecessarily loud drama in five acts."

"Wendy is really freaked," Stan said. "I've never seen her like this. She stopped trimming her split ends."

Kyle looked over at him again. "I would say that's the gayest thing you ever said, but maybe it's not, since apparently you're still closely studying Wendy's hair."

"I'm worried about her," Stan said, pinching Kyle's side under the blankets. Kyle squirmed away. There was a little flabby area over his hips now, and Stan loved it, wanted to bite it.

"Wendy will be fine," Kyle said. "Liane will end up raising Cartman's bastard child, and Wendy will go off to Yale and send child support checks like clockwork. Maybe she'll even visit the kid on its birthdays."

"Dude, stop. Wendy's not like that. She's upset about this because she cares. About Cartman, even, I think."

"That's her mistake," Kyle said, snorting. "Aren't you going to do your homework?"

"Eh," Stan said. "In a minute."

He fell asleep and woke up with his head on Kyle's thigh, Kyle's fingers stroking through his hair, Ike shouting through the door that dinner was ready. It was pitch dark outside, and Stan just wanted to stay in Kyle's bed all night, though his stomach was growling.

"Want to eat with us?" Kyle asked, setting aside the book he'd been reading.

"Mhm, okay," Stan said. "If I'm invited."

"You're always invited," Kyle said. He kissed Stan's ear and climbed over him to get dressed. "I'm gonna wash up. Be right back."

When Kyle was gone, Stan yawned and stretched. He rolled toward the door, waiting for Kyle to return, and picked up the book that he'd set on the nightstand. Stan assumed it was something for AP Lit class, though he didn't recognize the title: _40+_ _weeks_. His heart rate sped up when he saw the subtitle:

_The Essential Pregnancy Organizer_

He almost put the book down, feeling as if he'd come across some secret snapshot of Kyle's heart that he wasn't meant to see. His eyes watered a little as he opened it and saw that it was more of a journal than a book, full of notes that Kyle had penciled in, and what moved him more than any of the little boxes Kyle had checked off – vitamins, diet, letting the dentist and his staff know about the pregnancy – was a page at the front. It had lines for two names, _This book belongs to_, and, underneath that, _In case of emergency, contact_. Kyle had penciled his full name in as the owner, and Stan was the emergency contact.

Stan was still flipping through the book when Kyle returned to the room. Kyle froze, saw what Stan was holding and shut the door.

"You haven't checked off 'start a list of baby names,'" Stan said.

"Well." Kyle wiped his hands on the tail of his shirt, lingering by the door. "That's in the thirteen to sixteen weeks part. I'm just barely twelve."

"But you checked off 'plan the quickest route to hospital or birthing center,'" Stan said. He was crying a little, blinking tears. "And that's in 37 to 40 weeks."

"Considering my circumstances, I thought it would be wise." Kyle walked to the bed, cautious, and it reminded Stan of the first time Kyle had walked in that door after cleaning himself up, after their first time having grown up sex. Stan put the book down and held his arms out.

"Dude," he said as Kyle leaned down onto him and curled up against his chest. "Dude, that book. Fuck, I'm crying."

"I know," Kyle said. "That's – I want to do this logically, okay. Clinically, if possible. There's stuff in there about, like. Having photos taken of your 'pregnant belly.' I put a line through that."

"I saw. But maybe, once you're there, you'll—"

"No, dude. I'm not gonna like – that. And I fucking hate these." He sat up and grabbed his little tits through his shirt, snarling. "I almost need a fucking bra, it's disgusting."

"It's not disgusting," Stan said. "It's barely noticeable, and, I mean. You're all sensitive." He was getting hard again just from talking about it. Kyle groaned.

"There's nothing in that book about deciding which one of you gets to be called 'dad,'" he said.

"You can be Dad," Stan said. "You've fucking earned it. I'll be Mom."

"No, God, that's even worse," Kyle said, laughing. They kissed, and Stan felt unstoppable. He'd only needed Kyle to believe they could do this. Even if Kyle wasn't willing to say so out loud – he'd bought a book. He'd made a schedule for their baby.

Stan wanted to pour over every little note Kyle had jotted on the pages of the book. Kyle seemed relieved when they were called to dinner before he could.

"You're certainly in a good mood!" Sheila said when she passed Stan the potatoes. He was beaming, laughing at every dumb comment Ike made. He grinned at Sheila, oblivious to the fact that she suspected he was high until she didn't return his manic smile.

"It's just been a really good day," Stan said. He touched Kyle's foot under the table.

"Your history test went okay?" Kyle said.

"Um, not really," Stan said. "But it was a good day, still."

At home that night, Stan apologized to his mother for missing dinner and went upstairs to attempt some homework. He was distracted, and he dug out his phone to text Kenny.

_kyle bought a baby book :)_

Stan felt lonely for Kyle, and for the book. He wanted to be there in bed with Kyle, both of them in their pajamas as Kyle wrote his notes about the day, logging what he'd eaten and how sensitive his nipples had been today as compared to the day before, in response to Stan-related stimuli. At least, Stan hoped he was making notes about that. He would want to read that later, if so. His phone buzzed, and he read the message from Kenny:

_cool bro. Are you guys gonna circumcise if it's a boy?_

_I don't know. We haven't exactly talked about religion. Or penises. I'm just happy that he's acknowledging that there is a baby in there. Also, we talked about the tits_

_kyle doesn't like the tits does he_

_Not yet, but I'm working on helping him to appreciate them_

_i'll bet you are you slut. A'ight gtg, got a shift_

_A shift where?_

_work_

That was the last message Stan got from Kenny, despite a few he sent asking where he was working that had shifts that started at ten o'clock. Stan figured he probably didn't want to know, but he fell asleep feeling uneasy again. When he'd told Kyle that he would take care of him, Kyle had asked 'how.' Stan hadn't pressed him when he dismissed the question in favor of sex, because Stan didn't have an answer. It wasn't listed alongside one of the check boxes in that book: _Determine how your teenage boyfriend whose only real skill is playing the guitar, and who isn't even in a band because guys in bands are douches and he's afraid you probably have to be a douche to be at all successful in music, is going to support you and your unborn child_.

Stan was able to sleep by thinking of baby names, going through the alphabet A-Z, but he dreamed about becoming a street musician, Kyle and the baby in rags at his side while he sat playing on a sidewalk in Denver, Token and Clyde riding past in their Lexus, pretending not to recognize them.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N:** A couple of previously unplanned dramatic things happened in this chapter, so I didn't quite make it to the night school introduction, but that will definitely be in the next chapter. Thanks so much for the reviews, and for reading!

* * *

><p>On Valentine's day Kyle was fifteen weeks pregnant and miserably ill, but he dragged himself to school anyway. He'd had headaches, ligament pain and swollen gums since week twelve, and he hadn't let Stan see him without a shirt on since week thirteen. Depending on Kyle's mood, Stan was allowed to reach up under Kyle's shirt and feel his soft chest, but he never made it down to the beginnings of the bump without Kyle yanking his wrist away.<p>

"It's just fat," Kyle would insist, scooting away from Stan angrily. "You're not going to convince me it's not disgusting. Unless you've been secretly attracted to Cartman all these years."

Stan had tried everything to convince Kyle that he looked nothing like Cartman, who had already gained about thirty pounds, or even like Clyde, who'd put on about half that. Craig and Butters had both been underweight before, and now they just looked more healthy, particularly Craig. Kyle looked a little plump, especially around his jaw and his waist, but Stan liked it, if only for the ability to squeeze things that couldn't be squeezed before. He couldn't keep his hands off of Kyle's ass, and when they were in bed together he was constantly trying to sneak them up under Kyle's shirt.

"Here," Stan said, parked in Kyle's driveway in the morning before school. He rooted around in the backseat until he came up with the box of sugar-free chocolate caramels that he'd gotten for Kyle, a particularly good brand of fake candy for diabetics that he'd ordered two weeks ago. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said, leaning over to kiss Kyle's cheek as he passed it to him.

"Oh, God," Kyle said. "I can't eat these. My teeth are _killing_ me."

"Your teeth?" Stan said.

"My gums, whatever. Brushing is so fucking painful. It's torture to be this sensitive, it's like, everything hurts." Kyle tore open the chocolates, brushed aside the brown paper covering them and took a deep breath. "Jesus, they smell so good," he said, sounding like he might cry.

"Ice cream," Stan said, backing out of the driveway. "I'll get you some ice cream instead."

"I'm so fat," Kyle said, touching one of the chocolates. "I promised myself I wouldn't sit around saying that, but it's all I can think about - it's not just how I look, it's how I feel, like this liquid-filled blob. And this is only the beginning!"

"I got you other presents," Stan said. The chocolates were still open in Kyle's lap. "And I'll - we'll do whatever you want in bed, okay?" He reached over to stroke Kyle's neck with the backs of his fingers, keeping his eyes on the road. The weather was bad, the sort that should be endured from the comfort of a bed.

"We always do whatever I want in bed," Kyle said. "Why - why are you getting me presents? Why haven't I gotten you anything? Because I'm the girl now? I totally forgot today was Valentine's Day, I'm sorry. I can't even _think_ anymore."

"You're not the girl," Stan said. "I'm just more of a cheesy present getter. And it was jerky of me to get you chocolates, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't jerky," Kyle said. He popped one in his mouth. "I'll just suck on it until it disintegrates," he said.

"I could chew some up for you and feed them to you, bird-style," Stan said. Kyle made a face.

"Don't make me lose my appetite," he said. He began to chew, tentatively. "These are really good," he said, reaching over to rub Stan's leg. "Thank you. Oh, God, though, the pain. It's like getting a blow job while sitting on hot coals."

At school, the nature of the rumors about the pregnant boys had begun to change. Stan wasn't sure if Cartman and his betting pool were to blame, or if the sudden weight gain of certain members of the senior class was all the evidence people needed to begin whispering and laughing under their breath when Stan and Kyle walked through the halls together. It was agony not to have any classes with Kyle, and Stan worried about him throughout the day, afraid that he might be bullied. Kyle had begun wearing baggy clothes. They were Stan's clothes, mostly, and Stan usually ran out of clean shirts and pants by Thursday. He'd noticed that Kyle was stealthily wearing his underwear now, too.

"Meet me at my car during your lunch period," Stan said when they were parting for home room.

"Won't Kenny and Butters be there?" Kyle asked.

"Not today," Stan said. He bent down to kiss the bridge of Kyle's nose. "I'm taking you out to lunch for Valentine's Day, alright? It's your second present."

"Oh." Kyle sighed. "Not to be a dick, but can't we just go out for dinner? I'm really tired, and I was going to study for that trig test at lunch."

"I made you a picnic, though," Stan said. All the stuff was in his bag, Kyle's latest favorite foods: chunks of canned pineapple, bloody slices of roast beef on sunflower bread with cheddar and extra mayo, and cheesecake flavored Jello pudding cups with gooey fake cherry topping. All easily chewable.

"A picnic?" Kyle seemed as if he couldn't decide how to feel about that: touched or exasperated. "It's like thirty below out, dude."

"We could eat it in the car," Stan said. He stepped a little closer, shielding Kyle from prying eyes, though the fact that they were pressed together against his locker was hardly inconspicuous. "You know, it's not fair. Sometimes me and you should be the ones having sex in my car."

Kyle moaned and let his head thunk back against the lockers. Stan wanted him all the time lately, especially when Kyle was dressed in Stan's clothes, sleeves hanging over his hands and pants dragging on the floor. Today he was wearing Stan's Colorado Eagles shirt, a gift from one of Shelly's former boyfriends who had played goalie for the Eagles.

"I'm so tired, dude," Kyle said. "Can you just sneak into my lunch period and eat with me while I go over my trig stuff? I didn't get to review as much as I wanted to last night."

There was something accusatory in that. They'd had sex the night before, as usual, during what was nominally homework time, and Kyle had been irritable when he woke to find that Stan had let him sleep for an hour. Kyle was normally a light, efficient sleeper, but lately he was dozing off as soon as his head touched Stan's shoulder and staying under even while Stan had conversations with Ike or answered his phone to tell his mother that he'd be having dinner with the Broflovskis again.

"That's good, too," Stan said. "Whatever you want."

"It's just-"

"No, dude, it's okay, I get it."

"I should give you all the sex you want as a gift to you," Kyle said, yawning. Stan laughed, though this statement made him nervous. They used to be on the same wavelength in terms of how often they wanted sex, which was anytime they could fit it into an at least semi-private moment, but in the past few weeks Stan had gotten the sense that Kyle was less interested. The night before Kyle had mostly just lay on his side with his eyes closed, moaning softly while Stan fingered him. Stan had been afraid at one point that Kyle was drifting off to sleep, but when he removed his fingers Kyle whined and pressed back against him, begging.

In study hall, Stan sat with Token and Craig, which had become regular. The Pregnant and Pissed Off Society had yet to meet again as a group, but there were splinter groups forming. Stan had a standing Sunday afternoon meet-up with Kenny and Wendy, who got high and complained about Cartman, respectively. He was lab partners with Cartman in chemistry, and he liked hearing that Cartman was doing okay, if only to pass that information on to Wendy. Kyle had several classes with Butters, who seemed to be outdoing Kyle in terms of wan exhaustion. Whenever Stan saw Butters in the halls he looked as if he was on the verge of sinking to the floor and curling up to sleep.

"Got big plans for Valentine's Day?" Stan asked Token and Craig when he sat down with them.

"Marsh," Craig said. "You would buy into that corporate hoax."

"Are you referring to Valentine's Day or, like, love?" Stan asked, unperturbed.

"God," Craig said. "That word." He looked especially miserable, wearing a gray hoodie with no visible high-end logos, slouched down with his chin in his hand.

"I'm gonna make dinner for Clyde," Token said. "French toast. That's all he wants to eat lately."

"Kyle's really into red meat," Stan said. "He used to like his steaks well done, I'd always make fun of him for that. Now he wants everything practically raw."

"That's dangerous," Token said, sitting up straighter. "The bacteria-"

"We know that," Stan said. "He doesn't actually eat things raw."

"He shouldn't even be eating deli meat," Token said. "I saw him with roast beef the other day at lunch."

"Wait, why?" Stan asked, his heart speeding up a little.

"There could be bacteria on the slicer thing," Token said.

"God, fuck, you two." Craig put his head down on his folded arms and moaned. "Shut up about this shit."

"Have you still not been to the doctor?" Stan asked, snapping his pen against Craig's wrist.

"I've been," Craig said. He lifted his head, his eyelids heavier than normal. "They did the thing."

"The thing?" Token said.

"The x-ray thing."

"It's not an x-ray, Jesus," Stan said. "You can't get x-rays when you're pregnant."

"Whatever." Craig rubbed his hand over his face. "The thing where you can see it. I showed the picture to Tweek. He flipped out." Craig smiled, and Stan couldn't tell if he was being cruel or sentimental. "He said it looked like an alien for sure."

"But the doctor said it looked normal, right?" Token said.

"Yes," Craig said. He looked back and forth between them, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. "Also, a girl. Probably."

"Whoa, shit!" Stan said, bouncing a little. "That's crazy - they could tell? Last time we went they said they weren't sure."

"Same here," Token said, looking at Craig somewhat skeptically. "When did you go?"

Craig groaned. "Yesterday," he said.

"Congratulations, dude," Stan said. Craig gave him a humorless stare.

"I don't like girls," he said.

"Don't be like that," Token said, whacking his shoulder. "That's your daughter."

Craig closed his eyes, let out his breath, and put his head down again.

After study hall, Stan was heading to History and fretting about cold cuts when he saw Henrietta Biggle trying to get to her locker, obstructed by two younger girls on opposite sides who were laughing together while wielding balloons and flowers, trying and failing to fit any of it into their lockers. Henrietta was hanging back and looking defeated, her hand clawed around the strap of her shoulder bag.

"Hey," Stan said. She turned to him and flinched.

"Oh," she said. "Hey."

"All this shit's pretty annoying, huh?" he said, gesturing to the balloons, which were thumping against each other like heavy bubbles. Stan liked most of the trappings of Valentine's Day, but the balloons seemed more about advertising a relationship than exchanging a meaningful gift, and there was something sad and wasteful about cut flowers.

"If I'd have remembered what day it was I would have stayed home," Henrietta said. "Actually, like, fuck this. I'm out of here." She turned away from the spectacle at her locker, and Stan followed her down the hall.

"I kinda feel like skipping, too," he said. "I was at least gonna ditch my third period and take Kyle to lunch, but he's not big on skipping."

"Sucks for him," Henrietta said. She walked out the back door and held it uncertainly. Stan slipped outside with her.

"How are you doing?" he asked when they were alone out in the cold. He wondered if her coat was in her locker.

"Fine," she said. She touched her stomach. "My parents haven't even noticed yet."

"Noticed - oh." Stan eyed the pudge at her stomach, which was bigger than it had been at the start of the school year. "Haven't you been to the doctor or anything?" he asked.

"Wren took me to Planned Parenthood," she said. "I'm eighteen, so. Anyway. They told me it's a boy."

"Congratulations," Stan said. "Who's Wren?"

"That kid with the red in his hair?" Henrietta pointed to her own hair to indicate where the red streak was.

"Oh - oh yeah. Cool. I mean, that was good of him."

Henrietta actually smiled at little, or anyway, her lips twitched.

"He's not the father," she said. "The father's this total asshole who left town as soon as I told him."

"Oh." Stan took off his sweatshirt and held it out for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You're shivering."

She hesitated before taking it, and she wrapped it around her arms like a muff instead of putting it on.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem." Stan was ready go to back inside, but she seemed lonely and lost, and like she wanted to say something.

"Is Kyle one of the pregnant boys?" she asked.

Stan had no reason to confide in her. They'd never really been friends, just company for each other's misery, and he didn't know if he could trust her with this secret. He also didn't know how much longer he and Kyle could attempt to keep what was going on a secret from anyone.

"Yeah," he said.

"I thought so." Henrietta looked away. "How's, uh. How's that going?"

"Okay," Stan said. "His gums hurt. Did you get that?"

"A little." She shrugged, still avoiding Stan's eyes. "Mostly I'm just fatter than ever and crying all the time. It sucks."

"Kyle's been crying, too," Stan said, though he didn't do it frequently. When he did, it was memorable, enough to soak the front of Stan's shirts. "And, uh. Gaining weight."

"What are you guys gonna do?" Henrietta asked.

"I don't know," Stan said, honestly. Though the reality of the baby was physically unavoidable at this point, Stan had checked through Kyle's pregnancy organizer for any indications that he was making plans and schedules for after the birth, and there was nothing, aside from some notes about losing weight and taking testosterone supplements. They still hadn't made a list of baby names. "How about you?" Stan asked.

"I'm keeping it," she said. "I know it's stupid, but, like. Whatever. It's what I want."

"It's not stupid," Stan said. "Look, um, I gotta go. Class, and stuff."

"Right. Thanks for the sweatshirt. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"Yeah - okay. No problem. Happy Valentine's Day," he added, probably unwisely. He was glad he'd said it when she smiled.

This was Kyle's lunch period, and Stan went the long way to the cafeteria, steering clear of the Pre-Calc class he was supposed to be attending. Kyle was at their usual table with their usual guys: Cartman, Butters, and Kenny. Stan was surprised to see Tweek sitting with them, and for a moment felt betrayed, as if they'd all agreed to replace him with Tweek since he'd been shuffled into a different lunch shift. He knew that Kenny and Butters were rarely ever at lunch, and imagined Kyle sitting there with only Cartman and Tweek for company, miserably enduring their various outbursts. Stan had been eating with Bebe and Wendy. Bebe had finally accepted that Wendy had gotten Cartman pregnant, and had a thousand questions about it all the time. Wendy was usually quiet and morose, and Stan did the best he could to answer what he was willing to.

"What's up, dude?" Kenny said when Stan approached the table. "I thought you needed your car today?"

"Change of plans," Stan said. He sat down beside Kyle and gave him a quick hug around the waist. Kyle was already eating, which was annoying, since Stan had told him he brought food.

"That's okay anyhow," Butters said. "I had some chocolate this morning so I'm feeling kind of peppy." He grinned tiredly at Kenny, not looking particularly peppy. "I think I can make it through the school day without my nap."

"Nap?" Kyle said. "I thought you guys - er?"

"It depends on the mood," Kenny said, giving him a look. "Ooh, Jello," he said when Stan began unpacking his picnic.

"That's for Kyle," Stan said, sliding one of the Jello cups over to him. Kyle already had a brownie with pink sprinkles on his lunch tray - the school's idea of a festive Valentine's Day treat. "I made you this sandwich, too," Stan said, taking it out. "But Token says you can't eat cold cuts. Is that true?"

"I'll eat it if Kyle can't!" Cartman said, reaching over Kyle. Stan moved the sandwich out of his grip. Kyle was staring at it longingly.

"Well," Kyle said. "Technically-"

"Dude, how many subs have I gotten you since we found out?" Stan said, moving the sandwich further away from him. "Shit!"

"I've been fine!" Kyle said. He frowned, getting red. "I mean, I didn't know at first, but then I thought, how many sandwiches did I eat before I found out? And then Terrell said these babies probably have some kind of superhuman immune systems, since none of them have had any issues yet-"

"He said they might," Stan said. "Not 'probably.' And I think he was joking."

"So, whatever, Jesus," Kyle said. He tore the foil off the Jello cup. "Take something else away from me, great."

"Why can't he eat deli meat?" Tweek asked. He was holding what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he had yet to take a bite of it.

"There could be bacteria on the slicing thing," Stan said. "Apparently."

"Shit," Kenny said. He put his hand on Butters' back. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah," Butters said. "My doctor gave me a big list of things not to eat."

"That's good," Kenny said. "My mom drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney for three months before she realized she was gonna have me."

"That explains a lot," Cartman said.

"At least she was smoking cigarettes instead of crack," Kenny said. "We've all seen what sort of offspring that leads to."

"My mom did not smoke crack while she was pregnant, Kenny!" Cartman said, loudly enough to make the girls at the next table laugh. Stan had not missed this overly familiar scene at all, aside from eating with Kyle, though that was stressing him out at the moment.

"Dude, careful," Stan said when Kyle started in on the brownie. "Your blood sugar."

"God, I'm so glad we're eating lunch together for Valentine's Day," Kyle said, throwing the remainder of the brownie down. "It's so fun."

Cartman took the brownie from Kyle's tray and ate it in two bites while Stan and Kyle stewed in angry silence and Kenny and Butters exchanged a look. Tweek was tearing his sandwich into little sections, trembling.

"Tweek," Stan said. "Did your mom drink coffee when she was pregnant with you?"

"Gah - I don't know!" Tweek said. "What are you saying?"

"He's saying you twitch like a crack baby," Cartman said.

"I can't help it!" Tweek said. He threw down the sandwich bits and grabbed at his hair. "I just want to be sedated until Craig has this baby! It's too much fucking pressure, and I don't know what to do!"

"Is Craig treating you any better?" Stan asked. He was watching Kyle stab tater tots with his fork, gutting their hot white innards before eating the crunchy parts.

"C-Craig treats me fine!" Tweek said. "I'm lucky he's not pressing charges, shit!"

"What would the charges be?" Kyle asked. "Letting him fuck your ass?"

"Dude, Jesus!" Stan said while Tweek spazzed, putting his forehead on the table.

"What?" Kyle said. "Craig is the one who walked down Cartman's basement stairs shouting about how he's the top."

"Stop talking about gay sex, goddammit!" Cartman said, pounding the table with his fist. "We have a rule!"

Everyone fell silent, as if no one could think of anything but gay sex to talk about. Stan set the illicit sandwich down on the table, his stomach grumbling. He'd made a generous sandwich and cut it in half, one half for him and one for Kyle, but he felt that eating it in front of Kyle would be rude, even though this left him with only pineapple chunks for lunch.

"How are you holding up?" Stan asked Butters, who was eating grapes as Kenny carefully peeled them.

"Oh, I'm good," Butters said. "Gettin' some weird food aversions, though."

"The peels make his teeth hurt," Kenny said. Stan frowned as he watched Kenny painstakingly peeling the next grape. Kenny continued to seem eerily calm about all of this, and to laugh dismissively when Stan asked him about his night job.

"I'm having food aversions, too," Kyle said. "Like this disgusting - ugh, I can't even look at it." He put a napkin over the lumpy white potatoes he'd extracted from the tater tot skins. "I only want sugar and red meat. And fried things," he said, eating another tater tot hide.

"I meant more like, your parents," Stan said to Butters. "How's that going?"

"Oh, well." Butters and Kenny exchanged a glance. "Fine."

"They told him he's doing chores for two now," Kenny said.

"They are paying for everything," Butters said. "Their insurance doesn't cover, um. Boy pregnancy."

"Isn't your doctor working for free?" Kyle asked. "Mine is all excited to be allowed to get near this thing."

Stan wilted. Kyle hadn't called the baby a 'thing' in a while.

"Yeah," Cartman said. "Mine's working for free, too, as long as he can take all the pictures he wants. And I told you, dumb shit, you should have gone on Dateline and made bank with me."

"They only paid you five thousand dollars," Kenny said. "And don't call him a dumb shit unless you want-"

"What, Kenny?" Cartman smirked. "You're going to harm an innocent pregnant person? Really? I didn't think you had it in you."

"I'll remember all the beatings you earned after you're no longer in a delicate condition," Kenny said. "Believe me."

"Butters, seriously," Kyle said. "Who is your doctor that he's not willing to study an extremely rare condition free of charge?"

"W-well," Butters said.

"It's that Catholic hospital in Breckenridge," Kenny said. "They treat him like he's possessed, like he's pregnant with the Antichrist."

"Now Kenny," Butters said. "They're just tryin' to help."

"Are they really making you do chores for two?" Stan asked. "Because, man. You look pretty worn out."

"I'm okay," Butters said, looking down at the grape in his hand.

"He's exhausted," Kenny said. "I know you pervs think we go out to Stan's car to screw, and sometimes, okay, yeah, that happens, but mostly he just sleeps. I feel like shit waking him up to get him to class, but his parents told him they'd send him to St. Benedict's if he starts missing classes."

"What's St. Benedict's?" Tweek asked, bringing his fists to his chin with dread.

"A monastery in Snowmass," Kenny said.

"Jesus!" Tweek said. "That's fucking hardcore!"

"Wait," Kyle said. "Hang on. If you guys are just napping, why does Stan's car always smell like sex?"

"Oh geez," Butters said, cringing.

"Dude, seriously?" Stan said to Kyle.

"I guess you're just imagining it," Kenny said. "That, or my spunk has a certain staying power, in terms of clinging to the environment it's been released in."

"Aw, sick!" Cartman said. "Thanks, asshole. I just lost my fucking appetite."

"Uh, you've already finished your lunch," Kenny said, pointing to his tray. "And half of Kyle's."

"I was gonna go back for another brownie!" Cartman said. "I'm eating for two, okay?" he said, coloring and looking around the table as if everyone was staring at him judgmentally. No one was; they'd become indifferent to Cartman's appetite long before his pregnancy doubled it.

Stan tuned the rest of the lunch conversation out, his stomach growling as he contemplated the still-wrapped sandwich. When lunch was over, he pecked Kyle on the cheek, got an irritated look in return, and dashed down to the alcove in front of the auditorium to devour the entire sandwich. He felt guilty after doing so, as if he'd flipped Kyle off when his back was turned.

"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" Stan asked Cartman in Chemistry, where they were making rock candy. Their experiments had been decidedly tame since it was revealed that at least one of the students was pregnant.

"Valentine's Day is for chumps," Cartman said. He sounded less certain of himself than usual, and when he looked at Stan blankly from behind his lab goggles, Stan was nervous about what he would say next. "My mom's making an Oreo cheesecake," he said. "We're gonna eat it together."

"Cool," Stan said, holding Cartman's gaze uncertainly. Cartman looked down at their beakers.

"It's not cool, Stan," he said. "I should be out, uh. Partying. Getting wasted. Scoring chicks."

"That's not generally what people do on Valentine's Day," Stan said.

"Whatever," Cartman said. "That's when chicks are most susceptible to my charms. When they're all lonely and shit, because everyone else is walking around with 'somebody wants to fuck me' bouquets. But nobody wants to get with this shit. Look, look at this." He pulled the collar of his shirt over to show Stan something underneath. A strap. Stan's eyes bulged before he could collect himself enough to be tactful.

"Is that-"

"It's a bra, Stan!" Cartman said, putting his shirt back in place. "A fucking bra. Because they hurt, okay? Jesus, I'm so fucking miserable. And Wendy won't even talk to me." He was starting to cry. Stan stared at him, aghast, and looked to the front of the room, hoping their teacher would notice and take action, but she was helping Kevin Stoley harvest his crystals.

"Dude," Stan said, touching Cartman's massive back. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Cartman said. "I th-thought I could maybe get by on the single father thing, you know, with chicks and stuff?" He sniffled and wiped his hand across his face. "But I'm so fucking hungry all the time, a-and I'm turning back into a fat piece of shit like I was when we were kids!" He started wailing properly then, pressing his palms into his eyes. Stan glanced at the rest of the class. Everyone was staring.

"Does he need a moment?" their teacher asked. Stan couldn't tell if she was annoyed or sympathetic. He realized he was rubbing Cartman's back and heard a few people start to laugh into their hands.

"Just - yeah," Stan said, guiding Cartman around their lab table. He was crying hard and shamelessly, his hands covering his face as he launched into a reedy whine thing that Stan hadn't heard him do since they were kids and Kyle slapped him on the basketball court. "Just a minute," Stan said as he walked Cartman out of the classroom.

He took Cartman down toward the vending machines, then realized that might trigger his food-related anxiety and brought him around the corner, into the corridor that led to the dedicated football workout room. As senior varsity, Stan and Cartman both had the code to unlock the door. Stan brought Cartman inside and flipped on the light.

"Dude," Stan said when Cartman sat down with his back to the wall near the door, sobbing into his hands. "Are you seriously surprised that Wendy doesn't want to talk to you? You said a lot of horrible shit about her. On TV, too."

"I didn't use her name on Dateline!" Cartman said, lifting his face. Unsurprisingly, he was an ugly crier. "And I don't want to feel this way about her, okay? It fucking sucks, literally, she's a _suc_cubus, sucking my fucking blood out, but the spell is strong, Stan! It's making me want her around all the fucking time!"

"It's not a spell!" Stan said. "You love her, okay? Maybe. She told me about the Grand Canyon, dude. About Arby's."

Cartman was silent for a moment, wide-eyed. He sniffled.

"She did?"

"Yeah. And haven't you noticed how distracted and morose she's been lately? She's worried about you, dude." Stan suspected that she was actually more worried about the idea of an infant she had somehow made with Cartman being brought into the world, but part of that worry had to do with how Cartman would handle it, probably.

"Why should I listen to you?" Cartman asked, scowling. "She's probably still hung up on your twink hippie ass. She's probably just pissed off that you knocked Kyle up instead of her."

"Wendy doesn't - dude! Stop trying to protect yourself by acting like an asshole! Look where it's gotten you."

Cartman started wailing again, and Stan rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling.

"I hate this," Cartman said, blubbering. "I hate having these fucking tits. I hate estrogen. I hate women, for doing this to us! Especially Wendy."

"Women didn't do this to us," Stan said. He sat down on one of the weight benches, across from Cartman. "You and Wendy both made the choice to sleep together. I know you think it's not fair that you got pregnant, but would it have been fair if she had, if you guys didn't want that? Why didn't you use a condom, anyway?"

"Because I'm a virgin, you cock," Cartman said, glowering. "Or, I was. And she was, too."

"Seriously?" Stan wasn't sure why he was surprised. Wendy had dated a few guys during high school, but she'd never gotten too serious with anyone. "But virgins can still get pregnant. Wendy knows that."

"She said she was on the pill!" Cartman said. "For fucking cramps or some nasty chick shit like that. She'd been on it since she was fifteen, she _said_. Probably fucking lying about that, too."

"Wendy wouldn't lie about something like that," Stan said. "Do you want me to text her and tell her to come here, to talk to you?"

"Fuck no!" Cartman scrambled up and wiped at his face. "I don't want that bitch seeing me like this. She'll think she won!"

"Stop talking like that!" Stan said, standing. "I know you don't believe what you're saying, and you're sitting here crying in front of me, so you can drop the act."

"It's not an act!" Cartman said, shouting. "She's a bitch, dude! I'm in love with a total bitch!"

His face went white when he heard himself say so. He turned around put his forehead against the cinderblock wall, moaning.

"Only because of a spell," he muttered.

"Right," Stan said. "Well, look. You guys have to talk sooner or later. Why not invite her over for cheesecake?"

"Fuck you," Cartman said, still facing the wall. "She wouldn't come."

"I think you'd be surprised," Stan said. "I mean, did you think she'd come with you when you said you were going to steal Mackey's car and go to Arby's? Huh?"

Cartman was silent. He lifted his forehead from the wall and half-turned, staring at the workout room's ratty carpeting.

"I thought things were turning around for me that night," Cartman said, and Stan knew he was talking about Bebe's party, when Wendy had pulled him over to dance.

"Maybe they were," Stan said. "You know, you're gonna have a kid. I know your mom will help, and I think Wendy will, too, but you're gonna have to grow up a little. Or a lot."

"Bitch, please," Cartman said, scowling. "I'm way more mature than you."

"Right," Stan said. "Let's go back to class-"

"No, I'm seriously!" Cartman said. "You don't know what I've been through! I've been living in hell for four months! Five more to go, then they slice us open and hope we survive, great. You don't even know what the other half of your gay ass sixty-nine of a relationship is going through."

"Kyle?" Stan frowned. "Yeah, I know I can't relate exactly, but I've been there-"

"Been there, okay," Cartman said. "You and Kenny are fucking psychotic. And at least Kenny doesn't try to hide how freaking happy he is about all of this."

"Have you and Kyle talked about this?" Stan asked, horrified by the thought. "About me?"

"Who is he supposed to talk to?" Cartman asked. He wasn't even gloating, just earnestly enraged. "Butters is too busy sucking Kenny off in your car, and Tweek doesn't know shit from shinola about anything. Who does that leave, Clyde? We all know Kyle hates Clyde."

"We - no, he doesn't!" Stan said. "You don't know shit about Kyle, or me! I'm not happy about this!"

"Are so! Kyle said you cried when you found that faggy little baby book that Butters bought for him."

"He told _you_ about that?" Stan stumbled backward, almost tripping over the weight bench. "_Butters_ bought him the book?"

"He got one for all of us," Cartman said. "Even fucking Craig. You seem surprised, Stan." Cartman smiled, finally gloating. "It's almost as if you don't know as much as you thought you did."

"Fuck you!" Stan said. "I came here to comfort you - why are you being a dick?"

"Because Wendy sucked yours when we were thirteen! I'll never forgive you for that, you undeserving hippie prick!" Cartman was trembling with rage, but he smiled when he saw Stan's expression. "That's right," he said. "Wendy told me all about how she broke up with you because you wouldn't return the favor."

"Ah-" Stan sat down on the bench again, feeling like he'd been socked in the gut. "I'm gay," he said helplessly. "That was when I knew-" The fact that Cartman had been told about this was like realizing that he'd been walking the halls at school naked for years.

"Me and Wendy have talked about a lot of things," Cartman said. "Kind of like me and Kyle. So why don't you go tell someone else to grow up, asshole, because I'm doing it, duh."

Cartman left the weight room, and Stan lingered, dumbstruck. The longer he sat there in the stale sweat-scented air, the angrier he became. He dug out his phone and typed a text message to Wendy:

_If Cartman tries to get you to hang out with him tonight, don't. It's a trick_

His thumb hovered over send for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He deleted the message. It wasn't really Cartman he was mad at, and he supposed Wendy had a right to tell people what had happened between them that day, since Stan had run over to Kyle's house in tears and told him everything immediately afterward. Kyle had listened quietly, sitting Indian-style on his bed, Stan on his knees across from him. When Stan was done, sniffling and wiping at his eyes, Kyle had grabbed Stan's face and kissed him.

"Yeah," he'd said when Stan kissed him back. "You're gay."

Stan left the weight room, trying to keep that memory firmly in mind as his sense of betrayal and humiliation grew. Kyle had complained to Stan that lunch was terrible without him, but apparently he'd been sharing some serious shit with Cartman while Tweek sat there twitching, listening in and possibly repeating all of it to Craig.

The weather had been warmer for a few days, though still not warm, and it was sleeting when Stan and Kyle headed out to Stan's car for the drive home. Kyle was ranting about something that had come up in his AP Psychology class, which he hated even on a good day, because apparently it was just a bunch of pricks sitting in a circle and puking out their extremely biased opinions one at a time while the teacher sat in silent observation.

"Do you hate Clyde?" Stan asked when they were in the car. Kyle was already picking through the chocolates, which he'd left on the passenger seat.

"Clyde?" Kyle said. He popped a chocolate in his mouth. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Cartman told me you hate him," Stan said. He started the car, his heart beating faster. He wasn't sure how much of what was said in the weight room he wanted to discuss today. He didn't want to ruin Valentine's Day, which was stupid, because so far it was nothing more than a sleety Tuesday during which he'd found out that cold cuts might be baby poison.

"Cartman?" Kyle said, his voice obscured by chewing. "Why was he talking about who I do or don't hate?"

"He was wearing a bra," Stan said, and Kyle laughed so hard that he had to wipe chocolatey drool onto the sleeve of his coat. "It's not funny," Stan said, and this made Kyle laugh harder.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle asked. He was still laughing. "A bra? Did Wendy tell you this?"

"No, he showed me. And I'm kind of surprised this is news to you."

Kyle boggled at him, the mirth draining from his expression. "Why?"

"Because apparently you told him that I cried? That day? Over the book? So why wouldn't he show you his fucking bra strap? He didn't seem shy about it in the middle of Chemistry."

"I didn't say you cried," Kyle said, but he was turning red. "I said the fact that you got that emotional over me keeping track of what I'm eating kind of freaked me out."

"Well, whatever," Stan said, glowering at the windshield and squeezing the wheel with both hands. "Sorry I fucking care about our child."

Calling the baby 'our child' felt wrong somehow, and it silenced Kyle, his chewing stilled. Stan heard him swallow after a few heavy seconds.

"You're mad about the cold cuts," Kyle said.

"No," Stan said. "But - yes! How could you keep doing something that you knew might hurt the baby?"

"It's not like I was intentionally eating cold cuts as often as I could!" Kyle said. "Just, sometimes I would look down and think, oh, there's a sandwich in my hand-"

"You want to give it up for adoption," Stan said. "Just say it."

"I don't!" Kyle said. "I fucking hate the idea of someone taking our baby and - and, just, having it. It's ours!"

Stan turned to stare at him, stunned.

"But I don't want to deal with it, either," Kyle said. "You know? Everything we'll have to give up - I wanted to have this awesome college experience with you, and this whole amazing life, and I thought it was so kind of great that we're both guys, because that way we could wait until we're thirty-five to decide if we wanted to adopt, or whatever, and not have to worry about the fertility issues-"

"So what are you saying?" Stan asked. "You're gonna give it up or you aren't?"

"I don't know!" Kyle said. "But it's all I think about, okay, and I don't want to talk about it, because you'll get upset and make me feel like shit for not knowing."

"No, Kyle-" Stan reached over to touch his shoulder. Kyle wouldn't look at him, his jaw clicking as he chewed up another chocolate. "Are your gums feeling better?" Stan asked.

"They still hurt," Kyle said. He sniffled. "But it's Valentine's Day. And these are the really good sugar free ones - from Alma?"

"Yep. I ordered them."

"I know you did." Kyle swallowed the chocolate and turned to kiss Stan's fingers. "I'm sorry I told Cartman about the book - thing. It's just, you know how I can't resist bragging about shit to him."

"Bragging?"

"Yeah, that was part of it. 'Cause Wendy won't even look at him without getting spooked and dashing off like some deadbeat dad. And you're sitting there crying over a baby name list that we haven't even made yet. I mean, I probably tried to frame it like I was complaining, but I guess it was more like I was rubbing his face in how invested you are."

"That was kind of a dick move," Stan said. "He busted out crying in Chemistry today. Over Wendy."

"Holy shit," Kyle said. "It was an act."

"No, I think it was real. Like I said, he showed me his bra strap."

"I can't handle this bizarro world shit," Kyle said. He more ate chocolate and sighed, settling back against the passenger seat. "Everything's fucked up beyond belief."

"Me and you aren't," Stan said, hopefully. Kyle was smiling when Stan glanced over at him.

"You make me want to be cautiously optimistic," Kyle said.

"Is that your Valentine to me?" Stan asked. "That'd be pretty good, like, written on a big paper heart, in sparkle letters."

"Oh, shit," Kyle said. "I didn't get you anything."

"It's okay."

"No, no, it's, um." Kyle sat up straight again, sliding the cover onto the chocolates. "We could make a list. If you want. Of names."

"I don't want that to be some gift from you to me," Stan said. "Don't force yourself to do it if you're not comfortable."

"It's not that I'm not comfortable," Kyle said. "It's just that I have a hard time thinking of what happened to me as a _person_. And I can't think of names. Like, where do you even start with names?"

"Elway," Stan said.

"Huh?"

"That's how I think of the baby," Stan said. "Like, my nickname for it."

"Elway. Really. As in John?"

"No, Kyle, as in the Steakhouse."

Kyle laughed, and there was something carefree in it that made Stan feel like he'd just hoisted a car over his head. _You make me want to be cautiously optimistic_. That had always been what he'd wanted to do for Kyle.

They went to Stan's house, where Stan had all of the ingredients for the dinner he was going to make for Kyle. Stan's parents were getting ready for their Valentine's dinner. Happily, it was in Denver, at some fancy restaurant. They made Stan take a few pictures of them in their dress-up clothes before they left, and Kyle sat watching this from the living room couch. There was a fire going, and a half finished bottle of wine in the fridge that Stan knew he shouldn't touch, but it had been a long day. He poured himself a glass once his parents were gone.

"Do you care?" Stan asked as Kyle came to join him in the kitchen.

"What, that you're drinking?" Kyle asked. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you mean. Just don't get drunk."

"I'm only going to have one," Stan said. Just the smell of the stuff made him long for a Sunday afternoon with Kenny, beer after beer with no judgment, at least until Wendy showed up.

"Uh-huh," Kyle said, watching Stan drink.

"Have you thought of any more names?" Stan asked when he had dinner going, noodles boiling and sauce simmering.

"What, other than Elway?" Kyle said. He'd insisted on helping and was mostly just sneaking bites of the ingredients while he watched Stan work. "How about Bennigan?" he said. "Or Morton? If we're going for a steakhouse name."

"Ha," Stan said. Kyle put down the cheese knife and wound his arms around Stan's waist, kissing the back of his neck.

"Or is it just football player names I should be thinking of?" Kyle said. "Peyton, Brady - Brett's kind of cute."

"What if it's a girl?" Stan asked. He was keeping his eyes on the near-boiling pasta, annoyed that Kyle wasn't taking this seriously. He wanted more wine.

"I think Brett is pretty cute for a girl, actually," Kyle said. "Oh, God, what if it is a girl? I don't know anything about them. The only girl I know is my mom."

"Craig's having a girl," Stan said.

"What? Really? How do you know?"

"He told me today. They had the ultrasound yesterday."

"You talk to Craig?" Kyle said. He slid around Stan and leaned against the counter. Stan raised his eyebrows.

"You talk to Cartman," he said. "Why can't I talk to Craig? And do you seriously hate Clyde?"

"Dude, _what_ is up with this Clyde thing? Not really, but so what if I did?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "Forget it. It's just something Cartman said. Like, as if he knows you better than I do."

"Are you being fucking serious right now?" Kyle said. "_Cartman_ knows me better than you do? You're worried about that? Wow."

"I'm not worried! It's just that you guys are going through this thing that I can't relate to. The body changes and stuff."

"The body changes." Kyle snorted and rested his forehead against Stan's shoulder. "God, Craig and Tweek with a daughter. I guess she'll be well dressed."

"I hope that you don't think I'm over here assuming that I know how it feels," Stan said. "I wish I knew how it felt. I wish we could trade off, you know, one day at a time. I hate it when you have something in common with other people and I don't."

"Hence my hatred for Clyde," Kyle said.

"What?"

"Football!" Kyle said. "And I don't actually hate him. I'd just sit there boiling with rage when you guys talked about football and I couldn't chime in without sounding like I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about."

"Well, now he's pregnant and I'm not," Stan said. "So you've got your common experience with Clyde to hold over my head. Your turn."

"Oh, thank God, at last," Kyle said, laughing like he had in the car, like things were okay. Stan leaned over to kiss him.

They ate dinner on the couch, a blanket over their laps, and Stan ordered an On Demand movie, knowing that his parents would thrash him later for the six dollar fee. The movie was worth maybe three dollars, but it was nice, watching it with Kyle cuddled up against him after Stan had cleared the plates. When the movie was almost over Stan began initiating seductive maneuvers, licking at Kyle's ear, teasing the lobe between his teeth and tongue before going for the sure thing, that soft spot behind Kyle's ear that always made him gasp. Tonight, he grunted.

"Hang on," he said. "This is getting intense."

Two characters were having a fight onscreen, throwing dishes. Stan watched for a moment, then slid his hand down under the blankets, casually resting his palm over Kyle's heartbeat. He squeezed his fingers in just a little, then a little more, until he was shifting under the blankets to accommodate his erection, because he was _holding_ _one_ and it was so _soft_.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked.

"Huh? Nothing." Stan considered releasing the boob, but that would be conspicuous. Kyle stared at him while he fidgeted. "I've just got a boner," Stan said. He brought Kyle's hand to his lap. "See?"

"Dude, I'm trying to watch this."

"I know! I can wait."

They both stared at the TV for a few seconds, Stan's fingers tensed and beginning to ache, his other hand still holding Kyle's palm against his crotch. He wanted to buck his hips, but Kyle hadn't even gripped him.

"How can you be turned on by how I look right now?" Kyle asked. "It's only going to get worse," he added before Stan could reply.

"No," Stan breathed out, wanting to put the weight of his hardon into his words. He pressed Kyle's fingers in around it to demonstrate. "You look so good, dude."

"Don't fucking tell me I'm glowing."

"No," Stan said. "You're not."

Kyle laughed. "You're obsessed with my fat," he said. "It's disturbing. How long have you had this fetish?"

"It's not fat," Stan said. "It's - it's - padding. And I've only had it since you've had it. The padding, I mean. I only like it 'cause it's on you."

"Oh, God." Kyle closed his eyes and let out his breath. "I can't believe I'm about to do this, but you've been really sweet today, and that dinner was so good, thanks. I was going to offer to do the dishes, but, fuck, I don't feel like it. I'm so tired. So." He shifted a little, pushing his shoulders back. "You can suck on them."

"Wha - them?" Stan's eyes went to Kyle's chest. Kyle was in no danger of needing a bra, and unless his shirt was tight the padding on his chest was no more noticeable than the softness at his jaw, but there was definitely enough there to suck on, and Stan had definitely thought about it.

"Yes, them!" Kyle said. "What do you think I'm talking about, my balls? Just be careful. They're insanely sensitive."

"I know," Stan said, his voice shaking. Kyle laughed.

"You're making me feel like you really wanted a girl all along," he said.

"No," Stan said, rubbing his face against Kyle's, his hand roaming freely over Kyle's chest now. "No, I want you, dude, I want you so much."

"Stan," Kyle said, and the tone of his voice implied successful seduction. Stan went for Kyle's neck, sucking gently, practicing. Kyle sighed and slid an arm across Stan's shoulders, applying a bit of pressure, as if he was as eager to get to the next stage as Stan was. Stan pulled the collar of Kyle's shirt down and licked into the hollow of his throat.

"You taste different," Stan said, whispering this against Kyle's neck as he reached down for the hem of his shirt.

"Different from what?" Kyle asked.

"From before, you know." Stan sat back, pushing Kyle's shirt up just a little. He was still mostly hidden under the blankets. "Can I take it off?"

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Just - don't be shocked."

"Dude, I'm not gonna be shocked."

Stan peeled Kyle's shirt off carefully, not allowing himself to look until he'd tossed it to the floor. Kyle kept the blanket over his belly and sat up straight, his nipples dark and pointed. Stan stared openly for a few moments, concluding that Kyle's chest, or maybe just Kyle, generally, should always be viewed by firelight. Stan's hands shook as he guided Kyle down onto the couch and crawled on top of him.

"They jiggle," Kyle said, his voice pinched. "When I run. I can feel it. My ass, too."

"Dude, shh," Stan said. "Don't be hating on them." He cupped the left one carefully, thumbing Kyle's nipple, watching his pupils fatten and his shoulders twitch. "They're sensitive, remember?"

"Asshole," Kyle said, smirking. "Ah-"

"Is that good?" Stan asked, circling the nipple slowly with his thumb, barely touching. "Too much?"

"Nuh, s'good," Kyle said. His eyes fell shut, and he let out a choppy breath. "_Stan_."

"Yeah?"

"Your - mouth, okay? Just, softly."

"Okay," Stan said, kissing along Kyle's jaw. "Just tell me if it hurts."

He felt like they were losing their virginity to each other all over again as he kissed his way down Kyle's neck. He went for the left one first, since he'd prepped it with this thumb, and snugged his hand to the new padding over Kyle's ribs as he carefully ran his tongue around his left nipple. Kyle sighed and gripped a handful of Stan's hair.

"Yeah," he said, whispering, and Stan took that as permission to begin sucking. He took in as much as he could, just a small diameter around the nipple, and rubbed his cock on Kyle's thigh when he moaned, his hand tightening in Stan's hair.

"That feel good?" Stan asked, looking up. Kyle nodded, his eyes still closed, and Stan moved over to the other nipple. Kyle's moan was louder this time, more reckless, and Stan sucked a little harder in response.

"Fuck," Kyle said, panting. "_Fuck_, Stan."

"Mhmm?" Stan pulled off just enough to look up at Kyle, his lips still pressed to Kyle's skin.

"Nothing - ah. Could you do that, um, while you fuck me? Suck on them while you're in me?"

"Fuck yes," Stan said, tearing off his own shirt.

Stan was getting Kyle ready, fingering him and sucking him and about to lose his shit while Kyle pulled on his hair and whimpered with need, when his cell phone rang down on the floor, from the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"Fuck, sorry," Stan said. "Thought I'd turned it off."

"Doesn't matter," Kyle said. He was breathless and pink cheeked, so ready; Stan couldn't believe they'd waited this long. "Please," Kyle said. Stan was already slicking himself, nodding. He was just lining up when his phone finally stopped ringing and Kyle's went off, hanging from the end of the couch in Kyle's pants pocket.

"Shit," Stan said. "Do you think-"

"No, fuck, it doesn't matter," Kyle said. "It's probably just my mom being a bitch about - something. C'mon, please. I'm so-"

"I know, shh."

It somehow seemed like it had been a long time since they'd had sex. Possibly it had just been a long time since they'd had sex by firelight, or since their bare chests had pressed together when Stan slid in. Kyle's eyelids got heavier and his pupils darker, and he was rubbing his nipples as Stan sunk into him. The sight was somehow even better than the feeling of that softness and those hard buds on his Stan's tongue. Kyle's nipples, lips, everything about him seemed swollen with readiness, and Stan was going to fuck him so hard, so well, but then the land line started ringing.

"What the fuck?" Kyle said, his eyes clearing a little.

"It's just -" Stan said. He dipped down to kiss Kyle, trying to ignore the shrill sound of the house phone. "Telemarketers."

The answering machine picked up on the other side of the den, and Stan had to pause all current activities as his mother's voice filled the room, telling the caller that they'd reached the Marsh residence and to please leave a message. As soon as she stopped talking and the beep sounded, Stan was kissing Kyle again.

"Hey."

The shaky voice on the line made both of them freeze.

"Um. I'm sorry to, like, bother you guys on Valentine's Day or whatever." The voice choked off there, pausing for a shuddering breath. It was Kenny, and Stan had never heard him sound like that. "I'm just, I'm, uh. I'm down by the meat packing plant on Blake Street, and, um. Some guys chased me here, I'm kinda fucked up. I was gonna just - kill myself, whatever, but I don't want to do that to Butters right now." He broke off there, crying, and Stan slid out of Kyle.

"Fuck," Kyle said, sitting up as Stan dashed for the phone.

"Kenny?" Stan said when he'd grabbed the receiver.

"Oh, hey." Kenny sniffled. "Sorry, just. Shit got kind of fucked up, and-"

"What - wait, just wait there," Stan said. "Why are you - kill yourself, why would you-"

"I won't," Kenny said. "Just come get me. Could you please come get me?"

"Fuck, dude, of course! We'll be there in ten minutes."

"Kay. Thanks."

"What the hell happened?" Kyle asked as they hurried to dress, their erections still sinking.

"I don't know," Stan said. "I've never heard him talk about killing himself, shit. That's not like him."

"He must be high," Kyle said. "Goddamn him. C'mon, let's go."

The streets were mostly empty, everyone firmly ensconced in their Valentine's Day plans. The sleet had transitioned to a dusty, glittering snow, and the streets were slick with ice. Both of them were quiet as they drove toward Blake Street, and when Stan reached over to settle his palm over Kyle's belly, Kyle didn't push his hand away.

"I shouldn't have brought you," Stan said. "He said some guys chased him."

"Like I was going to let you rush into battle with 'some guys' by yourself," Kyle said. He put his hand over Stan's as they pulled up to the hulking, deserted meat packing plant.

"I don't see him," Stan said, letting the car idle near the gated entrance, which was locked for the night. Even the streetlight reflected in the icy asphalt seemed menacing, and Stan wished again that he hadn't brought Kyle. Something thumped against the back of the car and they both shouted. It was Kenny, trying to open the locked back door. Stan flipped the lock open and scanned the lot again as Kenny climbed in. He didn't see any guys around, but his stomach dropped as soon as he saw Kenny.

"Fuck!" Kyle said, ripping off his seat belt. He hurtled into the backseat to tend to Kenny, who was bloody and beat up, wincing as he clutched his right arm to his chest.

"Go," Kenny said to Stan. "Let's get out of here."

"What happened?" Stan asked. He locked the doors again and turned the car around.

"Who did this?" Kyle asked. He was clutching Kenny against him, his fingertips hovering over the cuts on Kenny's face.

"Some guys," Kenny said.

"What guys?" Stan asked.

"Nobody," Kenny said. "Customers." He laughed unhappily and leaned into Kyle's arms. Stan looked into the backseat as they turned off of Blake Street, and met Kyle's eyes in the rear view mirror. Kenny was starting to cry again, in pained little jerks.

"Shh," Kyle said, petting his hair. "You're okay. We've got you. We'll get you to the hospital."

"No hospitals," Kenny said. "Please, I can't. I don't have insurance, and they'll think my dad did it, child protective services will start sniffing around, I don't want Karen going through that again-"

"How badly are you hurt?" Kyle asked, attempting to examine him while still holding him. "Did they break bones?"

"What were you selling?" Stan asked, and Kyle gave him a look.

"Nothing," Kenny said. "Nothing, nothing."

"It's okay," Kyle said.

"It's not," Kenny said. "I just want to get him away from them, before they do something, they're gonna _do_ _something_."

"Who?" Stan asked.

"Butters' parents!" Kenny said. He lifted his head and wiped blood and snot from his face. "I need money, I need to protect them."

"You need to protect Butters' parents?" Kyle said.

"No! Them! Butters and Aragorn."

"Aragorn," Stan said, deadpan, pretty sure now that one of the reasons Kenny didn't want to go to a hospital was because he was high.

"That's what Butters calls the baby," Kenny said. "Don't worry, though, okay. I'm not actually gonna let him name him that."

"Oh, Christ," Kyle said, pulling Kenny's head down to his shoulder. "Just relax, okay? Let me see your arm."

"It's just a sprained wrist -ah!" Kenny hissed when Kyle examined it. Kyle sighed.

"I can treat this," he said. Stan was tempted to laugh, but he held it in. Kyle was always jumping at the chance to play the pre-doctor role. "Let's go ahead and elevate it," Kyle said, guiding Kenny's hand up onto the back of the seat.

"Fuck, you guys," Kenny said, after they'd been riding for a few minutes in silence. "I'm sorry I messed up your evening."

"Don't worry about it," Stan said. "We're just glad you're okay."

"Whatever you were doing, you're not doing it anymore," Kyle said. "Right?"

"Right, but-"

"No buts!"

"How am I supposed to get money?" Kenny asked. "How am I supposed to save him, and take care of the baby, and-"

"Butters is smart," Kyle said. "You don't give him enough credit. He's going to be eligible for scholarships, maybe not need based, but I've been researching this stuff and there's money available for single parents, especially if they're good students like Butters. You can stay with the baby while he's in class, alright?" Kyle patted Kenny's knee. "And when he's home from class, you can work to support them. It's not going to be glamorous or fun, but you guys are going to figure it out."

"They want to give my baby away," Kenny said. "Those fucks. And turn Butters into a monk. Can you imagine him in burlap robes, silent for days at a time, no sex? He's so fucking good at sex, you guys, he's so responsive, he's _sensual_-"

"Oh, my God," Kyle said. "Stop."

"Seriously, dude," Stan said.

"I'm just saying, it'd be a fucking waste." Kenny sniffled. "He's not meant to be locked up."

"He won't be," Kyle said. "He'll find the strength to stand up to them, you'll see."

"I don't know," Kenny said. "They're hating on him pretty hard right now, for disobeying, for embarrassing them. They're making him clean their toilets, scrub the fucking floors. His little fingers are always raw." Kenny started crying again, and Kyle hugged him, shushing him.

"Why did you say you were gonna kill yourself?" Stan blurted, his voice breaking. Kyle gave him another admonishing look. Kenny shook his head.

"I didn't mean it," he said. "I was rambling, I-"

"Don't ever think like that," Stan said. "Ever."

"Stan just means that so many people love you," Kyle said. "You must know that."

"I do," Kenny said. He put his head on Kyle's shoulder and moaned.

Back at the house, Stan's parents still weren't home. Kyle took Kenny into the downstairs bathroom and cleaned him up while Stan prepared an ice pack for his sprained wrist. He lingered in the doorway after delivering it, watching Kyle work. Kyle was talking to himself the whole time, prissily cleaning each cut before bandaging it. Kenny caught Stan's eye and grinned.

"You scared the fuck out of us," Stan said, touching the toe of his boot to Kenny's.

"Sorry," Kenny said.

"Stan, go make him something to eat," Kyle said. He kept looking at Stan like he was making Kenny answer too many questions too soon. Stan departed to the kitchen. He fixed two plates, in case Kyle was still hungry.

"What's this?" Kenny asked when Kyle brought him into the kitchen.

"It's just pasta with cream sauce and chicken," Stan said.

"It's really good," Kyle said. "Keep that wrist elevated." He went to the fridge and got Stan's mom's bottle of Cranapple juice. Stan ducked behind him and grabbed the wine.

"Oh, shit," Kenny said when he saw it. "Lay some of that on me."

"No," Kyle said. "It will thin your blood. Here, have some juice."

"Aw, Mom."

"Shut up," Kyle said. He sat down beside Kenny and applied a heaping portion of paremsan cheese to the other plate before digging in.

Kyle had permission to sleep over on a school night due to it being Valentine's Day, which was not an annual thing. Stan supposed Sheila had thrown up her hands and allowed it since they were already in a family way. They hid Kenny up in Stan's room when Stan's parents got home. He'd gotten quiet and shivery after eating; he still seemed spooked. Stan loaned him some pajamas and pushed him into the bed when he mumbled about being fine with the floor.

"Those guys aren't going to come after you again, are they?" Stan asked when Kenny was lying between him and Kyle, all three of them staring at the ceiling.

"No telling," Kenny said. "But that was the whole idea of selling my folks' rock. Making enough money to get the hell out of Dodge. I got too many enemies here, man."

"You were selling meth?" Kyle said. "When you got beat up?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, mumbling. Kyle sat up on his elbow and stared down at Kenny.

"Jesus, that's a relief," he said.

"Kyle," Stan said. Kenny just laughed.

"I'm serious," Kyle said. He dropped down to hug Kenny's shoulders. "Don't - don't despair. Don't resort to desperate things. Maybe you have a lot of enemies, but we're here, too, fucker. In Dodge."

Stan spent his post-Valentine's Day bedtime listening to Kenny's snoring and Kyle's nose whistling. At one point he could hear his mother squeal with laughter from down the hall. He wondered if he would ever get the hell out of Dodge himself. It wasn't quite _Dodge_, as long as he had Kyle, but it wasn't Fort Collins, or that little apartment they had picked out by campus, something that would have been far enough away from their parents and their childhood friends to feel like a new start.

He didn't fall asleep until three o'clock in the morning, and when he did he dreamed that Kyle gave birth to a football and blamed Stan, for deciding to call it Elway.

"But you wouldn't pick a name!" Stan said, in tears as he watched Kyle cradling the football. The nurses had wrapped it in a pale blue blanket. "You wouldn't pick!"

"Just promise you'll never throw him," Kyle said, cuddling the football against his chest, possibly trying to encourage it to breastfeed.

Stan promised.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I promise I will actually get them into the damn class next time - apparently I needed another chapter of THIS. Thanks for reading and reviewing - I'm so happy that people are enjoying this fic!

* * *

><p>In March, they started checking their mail boxes for college acceptance letters, though they both knew CSU was basically a sure thing, at least in terms of getting in. Nothing in their lives was as certain as they'd thought it would be, and Stan was dreading the day Kyle heard from Yale, because if he got in, he might go, and Stan would be left at his parents' house with the baby, or, worse, he would tag along and change diapers while Kyle mingled with Ivy League classmates. There would be no child-related coming out at Yale, where meeting the right people and impressing them was just as important as grades. Stan and the baby would be Kyle's secret, hidden in some dumpy apartment, not allowed to be seen with him in public.<p>

This was where Stan's mind had wandered by the time they were parked outside of the doctor's office where they were to meet Terrell for the eighteen week ultrasound. It was a stolid, snow-covered Saturday afternoon, and Kyle was moaning in the passenger seat, half-heartedly attempting some of the breathing exercises that were supposed to be good for his back pain. He had both hands pressed to his stomach, but he looked more as if he was having indigestion than tenderly clutching at the baby bump that was hidden under his baggy clothes.

"Hey," Stan said, rubbing the back of Kyle's neck. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay!" Kyle said. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, alright? Jesus!"

"Sorry."

Kyle had been in a terrible mood almost nonstop since the back pain started, disinterested in sex and curled up in a ball in his or Stan's bed if he wasn't in class, gritting his teeth to get through the school days. Cartman had been calling in sick a lot, and Craig had, too. Butters and Kyle persevered in their baggy clothes, and the rumors that they were in the same situation as Cartman were prevalent. Stan occasionally saw Clyde around, wearing a winter coat over his clothes to hide his stomach.

"I hate this," Kyle said as Stan helped him out of the car. Whereas Kyle had once snapped at Stan for opening doors for him, now he got upset if Stan's arm wasn't constantly available for him to clutch.

"What do you hate?" Stan asked, hoping this wasn't another stupid question.

"These doctor visits," Kyle said. "The ultrasounds."

"We could find out the sex today," Stan said. Kyle gave him a look, irritable and then guilty.

"I don't want to know," Kyle said. "And I'd say, you know, that they could tell you and not me, but I don't want you to have a secret from me about what's in my own body."

"Okay."

"Stan!" Kyle tugged on his arm.

"What?"

"Nothing, just, I know you're not okay with not knowing!"

"I'm okay with it," Stan said, though he'd been looking forward to finding out. "I'm gonna love our kid either way," he added, perhaps bitchily.

"Stop that," Kyle said.

"What?"

"Loving the kid," Kyle said, but he touched his stomach as if to apologize to Elway for that.

"So, what?" Stan said, stopping at the front door of the clinic. "You've made a decision?"

"No!" Kyle said. "I just don't want the sex of the baby to factor in to whatever decision I do make."

"Why would it?" Stan asked. "You want one more than the other?"

"Not really," Kyle said, mumbling. He reached for the door, but Stan opened it for him before he could. "I just don't want to start having this - mental image. Because it won't - I mean, for all we know it's going to have purple skin or something."

"I'd be okay with that," Stan said, thinking of the X-Men.

"No, you wouldn't!" Kyle said, loudly enough to get everyone in the waiting room looking at them as they stamped snow off their boots. "Stop acting so magnanimous on my parasite's behalf! God!"

"Don't call it a parasite!" Stan said. Everyone in the waiting room glanced down at their magazines when he turned toward the reception desk. Kyle followed, sulking.

Terrell was waiting for them in the usual room, talking with Dr. White, who worked at the clinic and had administered most of Kyle's tests. The doctors left the room while Kyle changed out of his shirt and pants, replacing them a napkin-like gown. He winced as he climbed up onto the examining table, and allowed Stan to slip his hand under one of the gown's flaps and rub his back, just lightly, his fingertips sliding over the goosebumps that were rising on Kyle's skin.

"We can go home and have a nap after this," Stan said.

"I want to sleep through the rest of my life," Kyle said. He pulled Stan to him and hugged him, hiding his face against Stan's chest until the doctors came knocking.

"So, this is exciting," Terrell said. He was smiling in a way that made Stan angry, and he tried not to let his own emotions show. Kyle still had a handful of Stan's sweater, like a kid who was preparing himself for an inoculation, silently begging Stan to intervene at the last moment.

"I've heard that the count so far is two girls and one boy," Dr. White said as she readied the machine. "Then there's the one who's being treated at Breckenridge. They won't share their data, for some reason."

"Odd," Terrell said. Stan wanted to say that it was 'odd' to refer to the South Park babies as 'data,' but he supposed Kyle had just called theirs a parasite, so he couldn't really talk.

"Ready to find out which you're having?" Dr. White asked. She gave Kyle a cautious, possibly sarcastic smile, as if she knew by now what his answer would be.

"No, thanks," Kyle said. "We want to be surprised."

Stan was just relieved to see that Elway wasn't football-shaped. He tried to spot some sort of gender tag as they watched the monitor, but there was nothing obvious. Kyle averted his eyes as usual, holding Stan's hand while Terrell and White muttered about how the baby was developing according to schedule. Kyle claimed that the sight of his insides on display made him feel ill. Stan resisted the urge to ask him if he didn't want to look just once. Elway was fidgeting a lot, and it was sort of mesmerizing. Stan wanted to protest when they turned off the monitor.

"Have you felt any kicking yet?" White asked.

"No," Kyle said. "Is that going to start soon?" He looked frightened.

"I'm surprised you haven't felt it already," White said. "It's a big baby."

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle said, closing his eyes. "Of course it is."

Stan really wished they had a pronoun for Elway that wasn't 'it,' but they left the doctor's office without one. Kyle wanted french fries, and Stan got him some without reminding him about what Terrell had said about fried food and salt. Kyle fed Stan a few without needing to ask if he wanted any, and they smiled at each other after Stan had eaten out of Kyle's hand.

"If you feel kicking, will you tell me?" Stan asked. Kyle nodded.

"I'm scared about that," he said.

"That it will hurt?"

"No, that it - that the person who lives inside me will be kicking my internal organs!"

"Oh. When you put it that way. But it's kind of sweet, you know? Like he's trying to say hello to you." Stan's eyes watered, mostly from the embarrassment of hearing what he'd just said.

"Or she," Kyle said. "Unless - did you see something? On the monitor? A male - element?"

"Now you want to know?" Stan said. "I didn't see anything, but we could ask Terrell anytime."

"I'm so terrified," Kyle said, and he burst into tears. Stan pulled over near the entrance to his neighborhood and unbuckled his seat belt. He held Kyle while he cried, flipping the radio off when a song that didn't fit the moment came on, something about tearing up a club.

"Sorry, sorry," Kyle said.

"Don't be sorry, dude." Stan kissed Kyle's hair. It was unruly, still basically the bedhead he'd woken up with. "And I'm scared, too, but you don't have to be terrified. It's not all that bad. We're gonna be okay."

"I'd be a terrible father," Kyle said, lifting his face to Stan's. "I left Ike at the arcade that one time, remember?"

"Dude, you were eleven."

"And he was only five! I should have been more careful. And I'm not ready for this, Stan, it's not - I'm not a nurturing person."

"Yeah, you are," Stan said.

"It doesn't count when it's you," Kyle said, letting Stan dry his eyes. "When I'm nurturing my way down toward your dick."

"It's not just me," Stan said. "I've seen you nurture plenty of people. Including Ike - and Kenny! And you don't have to be perfect. You'd have help. You know I'd help."

"That's the worst part," Kyle said. "That you'd be so good at this and I'd just be awful." He started wailing again. "It's already true! I just - why did I eat those fries? I'm already ruining its diet."

"The fries aren't going to hurt the baby," Stan said. "Not unless you eat them exclusively, or maybe every day - we'll have something healthy for dinner, alright?"

"You're so calm," Kyle said, pawing at Stan's cheek. "I can't decide if you're sweet or insane. Does it hurt your feelings that I don't want to look at the monitor thing?"

"No," Stan said. "I mean, it's legitimately creepy, in a way. Seeing a picture of the inside of yourself. I get it."

"You're just being nice," Kyle said. He sniffled and looked down at the zipper on Stan's coat, flicking it. "Do you think the baby knows? That I don't look at it? Like, in its soul or whatever? I mean, do you think it _knows_ me? Oh, God, what am I _talking_ about?"

Kyle cried again, sounding more exhausted than anything. Stan felt sort of encouraged, and tried to choose his words carefully.

"Do you want the baby to know you?" he asked, because that was the most important part about whatever Kyle was talking about.

"I don't know," Kyle said, blubbering. "I don't want him to hate me. I don't want him to like anybody better than me, I'll put it that way. Except you, because that's inevitable."

"No, it's not." Stan smiled and rubbed his face in Kyle's hair.

"What if it doesn't even look like us?" Kyle asked, peeking up at Stan.

"I don't think that's likely," Stan said. "I hope it gets your hair."

"You do not! Don't say that, God. Poor thing." Kyle moved back into his seat and touched his stomach. "Don't wish this hair on anybody. I hope it gets your hair. Stan, you know. You have beautiful hair." Kyle wibbled a little more, beginning to sound delirious. The back pain had kept him from sleeping very well.

At Kyle's house, Kyle took a bath with calming salts that were supposed to be good for backaches. Stan sat beside the tub and read _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ to Kyle until he fell asleep, his head tipped back onto the rim of the tub. Stan helped Kyle out and wrapped him in a towel, hoisting him up into his arms. Kyle was still mostly asleep when Stan passed by Sheila on the way to Kyle's room.

"Oh, bubbeh," she said, her voice shaking a little. She touched Kyle's forehead. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Stan said, and Kyle moaned, either to agree or to complain that they were talking about him in his presence. "Just really tired."

"Well." Sheila didn't look convinced. She was frowning at Kyle, holding a laundry basket against her hip. "Go put him to bed and come downstairs, alright, Stanley? I want to hear about your doctor's visit today."

"Mom," Kyle said, as if to complain about this plan, and then he fell asleep again.

Kyle was heavy and warm, and Stan wanted badly to get into bed with him and sleep. He'd spent the night before in Kyle's bed, and all of Kyle's tossing and turning had kept him up, too. He dried Kyle off and tucked him into bed, making sure he had extra blankets.

"Be right back," he whispered, and he kissed Kyle's forehead. Kyle made a soft, indignant noise and rolled onto his side, toward the window.

Downstairs, Sheila was waiting with coffee at the kitchen table, looking as if she had talking points prepared. Stan poured some coffee for himself, so exhausted that he felt a little like he was sleepwalking.

"Did you find out the sex?" Sheila asked, grabbing his wrist. The combination of physical contact with his quasi-mother-in-law and the word _sex_ was unpleasant.

"Kyle doesn't want to know," Stan said. "And he said he doesn't want me knowing something, um, about his body, that he doesn't?" That reasoning sounded saner when Kyle said it. Sheila released Stan's wrist and rolled her eyes.

"He continues to refuse to see a therapist," she said. "I even brought my friend Michael - you know Michael Hoffman, the psychoanalyst with the office on Main? I brought him to the house, because I thought Kyle might be more comfortable seeing someone here at home, but Kyle was completely rude to the poor man! He thinks he knows everything."

Stan laughed nervously, not sure that he could refute or agree with that.

"I need to know what your plan is, Stanley," Sheila said. "All of this is going by so quickly - Kyle will be twenty weeks pregnant next month! That's halfway to the finish line!" She boggled at Stan, allowing this to sink in.

"I know," Stan said, though he didn't feel halfway to anything.

"So what is the plan?" Sheila asked. "Kyle won't tell me anything. He looks at me and Gerald like we're strangers, like we couldn't possibly understand what he's going through. I was pregnant, too, he forgets! Kyle was unplanned," she added more quietly, leaning toward Stan. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," Stan promised, mildly horrified as he considered how profoundly that information would hurt Kyle.

"Well?" Sheila said. "What are you two going to do? If Kyle won't give it up for adoption, I hope he'll let us raise the baby while you kids go to school."

"No," Stan said. "I mean -"

"What, you're going to do it yourself?" Sheila asked. She scoffed. "With what money? And what about Kyle's education? He's a very ambitious boy, Stanley!"

"I know," Stan said. "I can take care of the baby while Kyle is in class. And when he's not in class, I'll work. I don't know." Stan put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, unable to deal with how she was looking at him, as if he'd just detailed his plot to rob a bank. "I don't know," he said again.

"Here." She poured him some more coffee. "You look tired."

"I am. Kyle's back-"

"You know, you don't have to sleep with him every night on the weekends. You both might be more well-rested if you spent the nights alone."

"No," Stan said. "He-" He stopped himself from saying 'needs me,' afraid that Sheila would take it personally.

"I know what he's like," Sheila said. "I know him better than anyone, whatever you might think. He's demanding, and overdramatic, and I just - you have no idea how hard it will be with a baby! I can't believe Kyle thinks he can go to school and raise an infant!"

"Kyle isn't sure," Stan said. "We haven't really - nailed down a plan. That's just my plan. He won't tell me his."

"That boy is so confused," Sheila said. "He needs to talk to someone. A professional, I mean!" She picked up her coffee and brought it to her lips, staring at Stan as if to size him up. "How's your relationship going?" she asked.

"Me and Kyle's? It's good."

"Pregnancy is hard on a couple even under normal circumstances," Sheila said. "I hear you two fighting up there, I'm not deaf!"

"It's not fighting," Stan said. "It's just. He pushes me until I snap at him, and then we both feel bad, and everything's fine. It's how we've always been."

"I thought I would marry my high school boyfriend once, too," Sheila said. "His name was Pipeline and he wanted to be a D.J. I had his name tattooed on my ass, for God's sake!"

"What are you saying?" Stan asked, trying not to cringe. "I'm Pipeline?"

"No! Oh, Stanley." She touched his wrist again. "I know I've taken out some of my rage on you, and I'm sorry. You're so good to my little bubbeh." She teared up a little but blinked it away. "But you're young. People change. I don't want either of you to feel trapped."

"I don't feel trapped," Stan said. "I would have been with Kyle forever anyway." He looked away, suddenly worried. "Do you think he'll get into Yale?" he asked.

"It's a long shot," Sheila said. "But if he does, he's got to go! And where does that leave you? Moving up to New Haven with a two-month old baby and your parents and Kyle's parents too far away to help you? Stanley, it's impossible."

"Okay," Stan said, getting up. "I understand. I just. We'll just wait and see."

"Wait and see is not good enough!" Sheila said. "If you and Kyle keep this baby, you'll be responsible for a helpless child! You don't leave that sort of thing up in the air!"

"I know," Stan said, wanting to scream at her with frustration, not sure what she wanted from him. "So you want us to give it up for adoption? Is that it?"

"Well, no." Sheila sighed and set her coffee down. "Let's face it - this might be Kyle's only chance to have a child, especially one who's genetically related to him. I don't want to give my grandchild away. I want to help you two - me and Gerald both do. And if you end up at CSU, you could commute, and see the baby whenever you wanted-"

"What about my parents?" Stan asked. The subject of Kyle's pregnancy had largely remained undiscussed in the Marsh household, but Stan knew his father, and he wouldn't be okay with Sheila Broflovski steamrolling him out of the picture.

"Well, that's something that we could talk about with our lawyers," Sheila said.

"Lawyers? My parents don't have lawyers. And if Kyle goes to Yale, I'm going, too, even if I have to skip college."

"That's insane!" Sheila said. "You'd be miserable, and you'd resent Kyle for having the college degree you could have had!"

"I wouldn't," Stan said. "I don't even know what I want to study."

"Music! I thought!"

"Yeah, but you don't need a degree to play in bars," Stan said, shuffling. He was ready to bolt, to hide up in that bed with Kyle.

"You're not going to play in bars for the rest of your life," Sheila said. "Are you? What kind of plan is that? You should get a degree, then you could teach!"

"Maybe," Stan said. "Look, I'll think about it, alright? I'll talk to Kyle."

"Oh, good luck." Sheila stood and flicked her wrist dismissively. "Kyle's in regressive denial about the whole thing. If you're going to talk to him about something, encourage him to see a shrink."

"I'll try," Stan said, though he didn't plan to. "Um. Can I go upstairs now?"

"Yes, go ahead," Sheila said. She went to the sink and rinsed the coffee cups out, shaking her head. Stan felt like he should say one last thing, to reassure her or defend himself, but he came up with nothing and slunk away feeling defeated.

Upstairs, Kyle was sleeping deeply, turned away from the door. Stan toed off his shoes and crept over to the bedside table, where the _40+ Weeks_ baby planner was resting. He opened it and read Kyle's notes from the past few days: there was a reminder about their appointment for the ultrasound, notes about what he'd eaten, and a list of things he'd tried to relieve his back pain. He'd drawn angry faces next to each of them to rate their level of failure. Toward the bottom of the page with that week's calendar was something jotted in pencil: _35 inches_. Stan closed the book, took off his pants and climbed into bed with Kyle, wondering what was 35 inches long. Terrell had mentioned that Elway was currently 'about the size of a bell pepper.'

"What'd she want?" Kyle mumbled as Stan spooned up behind him, hugging his arm across Kyle's chest.

"She was asking about my intentions," Stan said.

"What - oh, Jesus, was she trying to bully you into _marrying_ me?"

"No," Stan said. He gave Kyle a squeeze. "But what would be wrong with that? You don't want to marry me?"

"You know how I feel about the institution of marriage," Kyle said. "I consider it irrelevant until it's legal for everyone - and I already think of you as my spouse on the astral plane or whatever, she knows that."

"The astral plane?"

"You know, metaphysically! So what did she want if not that?"

"Mostly for me to get you to see a shrink," Stan said. "You know, it might not be-"

"No! She's not getting her way on that one, I don't care. I'm _fine_. As long as I have you." Kyle found Stan's hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. His eyes were still closed, and Stan wondered if this was one of those conversations Kyle wouldn't remember when he fully woke.

"What if you get into Yale?" Stan said.

"Then I'd do a fucking back flip," Kyle said. "But it's not going to happen."

"It might. Just because you didn't get early acceptance doesn't mean-"

"No, Stan, it does mean. Yale isn't going to accept two students from the same hick Colorado high school. Wendy got in, and she lucked out with the whole not being the pregnant one thing, too. Yay, Wendy. Me, I'm getting a baby sliced out of me in July and going to CSU in September. And CSU's _fine_." Kyle patted Stan's hand. "We'll be together."

"Me and you," Stan said. "And Elway. 'Cause otherwise your mom says she's going to raise our baby, and I really don't want-"

"Oh, hell no, she's not." Kyle said. "Not that she's a bad mother or anything. I mean, I turned out okay, didn't I? Why would you be so against her taking care of the baby?"

"Because it's ours," Stan said. "Because - I'd miss it. And you would, too, I think."

"Not enough to be grateful for every diaper change."

"I don't know," Stan said. "You might." He slid his hand down to cover Kyle's little bump, rubbing it with his thumb.

"It's so easy for you to be romantic about this now," Kyle said, "When the baby's just a silent little bell pepper that's feeding off my french fries. It'll be different when it's in your face every second, needing things."

Stan withheld a comment about the fact that he had some experience with this, Kyle-wise, and that he actually liked being needed all the time, rising to the occasion. He kissed the back of Kyle's neck and closed his eyes, ready to sleep for a while, his hand still pressed to Kyle's stomach.

"What's thirty-five inches?" Stan asked.

"Huh?"

"From your book, it said 'thirty-five inches.'"

"Oh. My fucking waist. I used a tape measure."

"Aww," Stan said, rubbing Kyle's stomach.

"Yeah, laugh it up. It won't be funny when I'm writing 'fifty-five inches.'"

"I'm not laughing! I love the way this feels."

"You're just getting off on it 'cause it's yours," Kyle said. He was mumbling again, beginning to drift off. "Like you've built this little house on my body."

"That's a sweet way to think of it," Stan said, his eyes burning. "'Cause, like. You built it, too. We built it together, you know. For the baby."

"Yeah, how ironic," Kyle said. "Considering we were propped against the side of an actual house when this one was - _erected_."

"Mhm," Stan said, glad that Kyle had said 'propped' instead of 'fucking.' There was something soft about that, and Stan liked the idea that it was for Elway's sake.

Stan slept, waking at moments when there was noise from downstairs - the garage door opening as Gerald returned home, Ike chattering on the phone in the next room, Sheila shouting at one or both of them. Kyle was motionless, completely passed out, and at one point, when Stan woke, he was certain that he'd felt a twitch under his hand, his palm still resting on Kyle's stomach. He waited, heart pounding, but felt nothing more once he was fully awake.

The next day, Stan had his regular meetup with Kenny and Wendy, and the awfulness of the weather was mild enough that they arranged to meet at Stark's Pond instead of Kenny's bedroom. Kyle knew about these meetings and was jealous, almost to the point of demanding to be included, but Stan was able to soothe his irritation by saying he wanted to keep Kyle out of it in order to protect him from the dangerous secondhand smoke. Stan wasn't even sure that secondhand pot smoke was dangerous - surely it wasn't _good_ for pregnant people, anyway - but Kyle was always fond of the idea of Stan wanting to shelter him, so he spent that Sunday on the couch with his brother, eating bowl after bowl of cereal and watching cartoons.

By the time Stan showed up Wendy and Kenny were already there, standing near the south side of the pond, farthest from the road. Kenny was smoking, and Stan was surprised to see Wendy accept and drag on the joint. She looked a little haggard, pale and dwarfed by a huge coat that might have been Cartman's. Kenny still had bruises on his face, fading and greenish.

"Welcome to brunch," Kenny said as Stan approached them. Wendy handed him the joint. It was close to noon, but it felt more like nine o'clock in the morning under the unchanging gray sky.

"We had our eighteen week ultrasound yesterday," Stan said. He was usually the first to start sharing. "Kyle wouldn't let them tell us the sex, though."

"Why not?" Wendy asked.

"I don't know," Stan said. "He wants to stay pretty detached. I think he's just scared."

"We're having a girl," Wendy said. She smiled warily and reached for the joint again.

"Gonna name it after yourself?" Kenny asked.

"We?" Stan said.

"I've been spending time with him," Wendy said. "He's really sick. His back, and -" She gestured to her chest. "It's really uncomfortable for him. And he's eating like a pig, so they keep getting bigger."

"Butters, too," Kenny said. He sighed. "They still haven't told him what he's having. They said the ultrasound is unclear. Something's fuckin' fishy, man."

"You think?" Stan said.

"It can still be hard to tell at eighteen weeks," Wendy said. "And sometimes what they tell you early on turns out to be wrong. I really hope they're right about ours, though. I'd definitely prefer a girl."

"What if she looks like Cartman?" Kenny said. "What if she's fat?"

"She won't be fat, because I won't feed her the shit Liane feeds him!" Wendy said, frowning. "Really, that fucking woman. I almost came to blow with her the other day for bringing him a whole box full of donuts. A whole box! That's not what he needs right now, sugar and empty calories. She's totally undermining my attempts to help him eat right."

"I'm sure he is, too," Stan said.

"Of course," she said. "But I can control him with bribes."

"Bribes?" Kenny said. "Of the monetary fashion?"

"No," Wendy said. She glowered at both of them. "He's very emotional right now. He needs affection. And he wants it from _me_, not Liane. That's why she's trying to win him over with donuts."

"Whoa," Stan said. He took another drag, starting to feel a little better and wishing there was someplace to sit down. "Speaking of mothers," he said. "Sheila kinda read me the riot act yesterday."

"What for?" Kenny asked.

"Just the usual," Stan said. "Knocking Kyle up and not knowing what to do about it. Also, apparently she has the word 'Pipeline' tattooed on her butt. Or did, at one point."

"What the hell?" Wendy said.

"He was her high school boyfriend. The Stan to her Kyle."

"So Kyle has your name branded on his ass?" Kenny said.

"In a manner of speaking," Stan said, and they all giggled like idiots.

They talked and smoked for about an hour, wandering aimlessly through the wooded area behind the pond. Stan couldn't recall ever seeing Wendy high or even very tipsy. She was talking a lot and without reservations, mostly about Cartman and how the two of them had been getting along for the past few weeks.

"He's such a big baby," Wendy said. "It's like practice."

"What about Yale?" Stan asked.

"Oh, God," she said. "Don't ask that."

"Why not?" Stan thought of his own Yale-related concerns, and Kyle's refusal to talk about them realistically.

"Because, he refuses to move out of Liane's house," Wendy said. "And I have to admit, it would be nice to have her help once the baby is here, and my mother's, too. So my choice is to leave my defenseless daughter with freaking Eric and Liane Cartman and go up to Yale to try to make something of my fucking life, or stay in goddamn South Park and commute to some state university while trying to teach my child actual, you know. Values. Healthy diet included."

"Is Cartman going to breastfeed?" Kenny asked, very seriously, and Stan doubled over with laughter, slipping off the log he'd been walking back and forth across.

"I don't fucking know," Wendy said. "Do you think they're actually going to have _milk_?"

"Oh my God," Stan said, laughing harder and trying to picture Kyle with a baby at his tit, scowling.

"Why wouldn't they have milk?" Kenny asked, looking a little heartbroken at the idea that they might not. "I mean, that's the whole reason they're getting boobs, right?"

"The way you two talk about them, I'm surprised you don't think they're developing _breasts_ just for your enjoyment." Wendy shuddered. "Cartman's are just." She moaned. "Poor Cartman."

"Poor Cartman," Kenny said flatly. "It's come to this?"

"Well, I didn't mean to do this to him!" Wendy said. "And he's so alone in the world already. Part of me wants to convince him to move up to New Haven with me, but, God. That'd be like having twins. He needs a mother, and I'm not willing to be one for him, even if he is the freaking mother of my own kid."

"So you guys are a couple now?" Stan said.

"No!" Wendy said. "But there's no reason not to be civil to each other. I'm just trying to be supportive."

"He doesn't try to kiss you and shit?" Kenny said.

"Kissing is part of civility," Wendy said. Stan snorted.

"He loves you," Stan said. "You know it."

"So? That doesn't make me obligated to love him back, even if I did get him pregnant." Wendy moaned and sat down on the log that Stan had been walking across. Stan sat down beside her, and Kenny beside him.

"You guys are so lucky," Kenny said. "You can show up with soup and take care of your guys. Butters - I just want to be there for him, and they won't let me."

"His parents?" Wendy said.

"They think I'm a loser," Kenny said. "His dad offered me five thousand bucks to leave town."

"Holy shit!" Stan said. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, muttering. "The worst part is that Butters would probably be better off if I did, and left him the money. Then at least he could get away from them."

"Five thousand dollars isn't going to get him very far," Wendy said. "And I'm sure he'd rather have you."

"That's right," Stan said, rubbing Kenny's back. "You're priceless. Don't let those shits make you feel bad."

"I couldn't even succeed at dealing drugs," Kenny said, giving Stan a look. "And that's in my blood, supposedly."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Wendy said. "Haven't you applied to college?"

"Well, _yeah_, but it's just fucking CCD, the only one I can afford."

"Community College of Denver," Stan said. Wendy rolled her eyes.

"I know what CCD is," she said. "And it's not a bad option. What are you interested in doing someday?"

"Uh," Kenny said. "Computers?"

"Well, there you go!"

"I hate this," Stan said, getting up to pace. "All this, 'what are you gonna do, better figure it out now!' It was bad enough when we didn't have kids."

"Fuck man," Kenny said. He rubbed his fingers into his bloodshot eyes. "We're gonna have _kids_."

"Oh my God," Wendy said, softly. They were all quiet for a while, listening to icicles cracking off tree branches in the distance.

Stan was feeling weird on the walk back to Kyle's house, buzzed but heavy. Passing cars made him wander into people's yards, because the drivers might be drunk and might suddenly veer over and kill him, and then what would Kyle do? Raise their child alone? Give it up for adoption since Stan wouldn't be there to advocate for keeping it? Go to Yale and forget all about both of them after he became some famous, cold, childless surgeon? Would Elway be tormented for his purple skin? And who would breastfeed him if not Kyle? There were important - health things! In breast milk!

Inside, Kyle had fallen asleep on the couch, his feet resting in Ike's lap. Ike was watching the news, something about the election.

"You're back already?" Ike said.

"Looks that way," Stan said, offended. Lately the Broflovskis were giving him incredulous looks when he sat down to the dinner table on an almost nightly basis. Stan felt bad about it, but Kyle always begged him to stay. He sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled Kyle into his lap, hugging him. Kyle moaned and twitched.

"How was your meeting?" he asked, blinking awake groggily.

"Sobering," Stan said.

"That's funny. 'Cause you reek of pot."

"Lemme have some!" Ike said, bouncing.

"No," Stan said. "It was Kenny's, anyway, I don't have it. And you shouldn't smoke, Jesus. You're only twelve."

"You and Kyle smoked when you were twelve," Ike said.

"We did not," Kyle said. "Well, Stan did."

"And look how I turned out," Stan said.

"Shut up, though," Kyle said, weakly. "Everybody shut up, please. I was having this dream about peanut butter."

Kyle slept for a few more hours, and when he woke up Stan drove him to Sooper Foods, where they bought a pint of Peanut Butter Cup Ben & Jerry's and ate it together in the car.

"Wendy has been kissing Cartman," Stan said as Kyle finished off the last of it, licking the spoon.

"Don't make me vomit," Kyle said. "I guess it's good to know that Cartman is still alive, since he doesn't bother to come to school anymore."

"You could take a few days off, you know," Stan said. "Rest up. It's not like the whole college admissions thing is going to get affected at this point."

"If I stay home, my mother harasses me all day," Kyle said. "I really can't bear to be around her when all she does is constantly remind me how doomed I am, and how I need some shrink to lay it all out for me."

"You're not doomed," Stan said. Kyle gave him a look.

"I'm seventeen and pregnant," he said. "God, and I'm still _hungry_. Can we go out tonight? Maybe to a steak place? I want, like, a big, gooey Caesar salad with parmesan, and a steak, and a baked potato with a lot of cheese and sour cream. And some broccoli, I guess. For health."

"We could go to the city," Stan said. "To Elway's."

"Oh, Elway." Kyle rolled his eyes. "No, I don't want to be in the car for too long. Let's just go to that Longhorn's out by the highway. That'll do."

"Kay," Stan said. He was broke, but Kyle didn't need to know that. Stan could borrow some money from his dad. He reached over to stroke Kyle's cheek. "You look cute," he said. Kyle was wearing a knit hat with tassels and an over-sized coat, the collar coming up to his chin.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Kyle asked, looking worried.

"Yeah," Stan said, his thumb moving a little quicker on Kyle's cheek. "But I can wait, if you're still feeling, uh. If your back's still sore."

"It's killing me," Kyle said. "And I can't take anything. I love medicine _so_ _much_. I'm looking forward to the fucking C-Section just so I can have pain killers again."

"I could give you a back rub," Stan said, dropping his hand to Kyle's shoulder. Kyle moaned and lifted his shoulder toward his cheek, leaning away.

"No," he said. "Don't touch me." He looked over at Stan. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Stan said. He started the car.

"It's just," Kyle said. "It's just - you did this to me, Stan. And you're over there looking all masculine. Agreeing to buy me steak. And my nipples are so fucking sore." Kyle put his hands on his face, full into the next mood swing.

"You can pay for the steak," Stan said. "If that'll make you feel better."

"Fuck you, are you serious?" Kyle's weepiness was most effectively combated with gentle shoves into sudden rage. Stan grinned at Kyle, who growled and hit him.

At school on Monday, Craig was absent from study hall as usual. Stan sat beside Token and exchanged a consoling hand slap with him.

"How was your weekend?" Stan asked.

"Pretty rough," Token said. "Clyde's been feeling awful."

"Yeah, same with Kyle," Stan said. "He, uh. He doesn't want a lot of physical things. Right now."

"Dude, don't fucking complain to me," Token said. "Me and Clyde have barely even kissed since the - whatever. Conception."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Don't tell Craig."

"I won't," Stan said. "It's not like Craig and I _talk_, anyway, outside of school. How's he doing?"

"Watching a lot of daytime TV and throwing things at Tweek. Last I heard."

"Dude, that's not cool," Stan said. "He can't just throw things at Tweek because he's miserable. That's abusive."

"I'm not talking about, like, dishes," Token said. "Couch cushions, I think, mostly. But that's probably just Craig talking a big game. I bet he cries and lets Tweek cuddle him when the curtains are drawn."

"Uh, seriously?" Stan said. "I doubt it."

Token started to say something else, but he was cut off by an announcement on the intercom:

"Attention, please, m'kay?" It was Mr. Mackey, who had been promoted to high school counselor during their junior year. "Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick, please report to the counselor's office immediately. Thank you."

The same 'ooohs!' and snickering that would have followed this announcement in elementary school passed through the study hall as Stan collected his things.

"What's that about?" Token asked.

"I don't know," Stan said, dread pooling in his stomach. "I guess I'll see you later."

Stan's heart rate increased as he walked to Mackey's office. He wondered if Kenny had been caught with drugs, and if he'd unintentionally implicated Stan somehow, and if Stan would therefore end up in jail, and Kyle would have to bring Elway to visit him in prison-

The door to Mackey's office was open, and Stan could hear faint weeping from within. He came to the doorway and saw Butters crying into Kyle's chest, both of them seated on Mackey's ugly plaid couch. Kyle was sniffling, too, petting Butters and shushing him.

"Oh, Stanley, there you are," Mr. Mackey said. He was seated at his desk, looking unimpressed by his students' drama as usual.

"What happened?" Stan asked, racing to Kyle, who reached for him. Stan wrapped himself around Kyle's back as he fell to a seat beside him. Butters looked up and sniffled.

"Oh, hey Stan," he said, his voice the saddest, smallest thing Stan had ever heard.

"What the hell?" That was Kenny, skidding to a stop in the doorway. He bolted for Butters and fell to his knees in front of the couch, resting a hand on Butters' knee. "Hey, hey," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Jason and Heidi were making fun of him in AP English," Kyle said. "They were whispering about how they could see the bump while he was doing his oral presentation. Then everybody started snickering, and laughing - it was awful. I sort of flipped out."

"Kyle pushed Jason right out of his chair," Butters said, sniffling. "Then Jason said - some things."

"He said I was just sensitive because I'm pregnant with the quarterback's ass baby," Kyle said. "I tried to punch him, but I missed."

"I'll kill him," Stan said, envisioning Jason's leering smile.

"Now, Stanley - boys," Mr. Mackey said. "Let's not resort to violence, m'kay? I think what we have here is a very delicate situation, and maybe the school hasn't been handling it all that well."

"What's the school going to do?" Kyle asked. "Throw us out for being disruptive? Jesus, you might as well! Our lives are over."

Butters started crying again. Kenny glared at Kyle, and Stan hugged Kyle's shoulders, rocking him.

"Let's not get too upset now," Mr. Mackey said. He seemed to be somewhat at a loss, facing four boys he'd known since their pre-school days, all of them about to become teenage parents, and without having even engaged in the dangers of 'sex with women' that he'd once warned them about in song. He held out a box of tissues and Stan retrieved it, passing it to Butters.

"Jason should be suspended," Kenny said. "Heidi, too. That's - a hate crime. Anti-gay. Or something."

"Boys, I think the fact of the matter is that this situation is disruptive, and it's only going to get more disruptive as you boys get, well, bigger. M'kay, so what we need to think about, maybe, is an alternative plan for finishing up your senior classes."

"Oh, no, please!" Butters said, clutching at Kenny's arm. "School's the only time I'm allowed to see Kenny!"

"Well." Mr. Mackey adjusted his glasses. "My thought is that supportive partners like Mr. McCormick and Mr. Marsh here could attend these alternative classes with you."

"What, you're going to bus us to Littleton or something?" Kyle said. "My back is not doing very well with long car trips."

"I was thinking we could get a program started right here at the high school, if we have enough participants," Mr. Mackey said. "A night school program. We've been having a lot of absences, m'kay, including Mr. Cartman, who has missed two weeks of school already this month. My concern, and your principal's concern, is that some of the, ah, affected boys are staying out of class because they're embarrassed about their appearances, m'kay."

"I'm sure that's Craig's reason," Kyle said. "Cartman just jumps at any opportunity to slack off."

"Mr. Tucker is one of the affected boys?" Mr. Mackey said.

"Yes," Kyle said. "And Clyde Donovan's the other one."

"Dude," Stan said.

"What?" Kyle said. "It's going to be obvious soon enough."

"Anything you boys tell me is confidential," Mr. Mackey said, lifting his hands and showing them his palms. "Except for purposes of inviting these individuals to attend night classes."

"I don't know if my parents will let me do night school," Butters said. "They have been pretty worried about me waddling around all shameless-like, though."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of," Kenny said. He touched Butters' stomach and rubbed it until he smiled. "Is that what this is about?" Kenny asked, looking at Mackey. "Hiding them?"

"Well, I wouldn't use the word 'hiding,'" Mr. Mackey said.

"I'm fine with hiding," Kyle said. "I think this is a great idea, except for one thing." His face became very serious. "Are me and Butters still going to get our AP credits?"

"Well, it's March, so with only two months left I don't see why not," Mr. Mackey said. "You'll certainly be welcome to take the AP tests at the end of the year."

"Who's gonna be our teacher?" Butters asked.

"We'll work all that out, boys," Mr. Mackey said. "And we'll get in touch with your parents this evening. In the meantime, why don't you all take the rest of the day off? Maybe you could go visit Mr. Cartman and Mr. Tucker, maybe bring them the notes they missed and such? M'kay?"

"I've got a trig test," Kyle said.

"You can make that up in night school, Kyle," Mr. Mackey said. "We want to work with you boys to make this whole experience as comfortable for you as possible, m'kay? And before you go, I want you to know that my door's always open if you need to talk."

Kyle rose from the couch with a sigh, and Stan did, too, elated to have an excuse to leave school early. Kenny stood, and Butters remained seated, blowing his nose.

"I think I'm gonna stay for a bit," he said. "If that's alright. I just want to talk about a few things. Mr. Mackey, do you have time?"

"Of course I do, Butters, sure thing."

"I'll stay then, too," Kenny said.

"That's alright, Ken," Butters said. "You go and see Eric, check up on him. I'm just - I get a little embarrassed about some of this stuff, is all."

"In front of me?" Kenny said, looking hurt.

"Kenny, you run along now," Mr. Mackey said.

"I won't be long," Butters said, giving Kenny a shaky smile.

Kenny followed Stan and Kyle out of the office, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He turned back to stare at the office door when they heard it click shut.

"Dude, c'mon," Stan said, pulling on Kenny's arm. "He just needs to talk to an adult. One who isn't accusing him of waddling."

"Oh, God," Kyle said, his hand sliding over his stomach. "Don't say that word."

"You don't think he's pissed at me, do you?" Kenny asked.

"Who, Butters?" Stan said. "Why would he be pissed at you?"

"Butters doesn't get pissed," Kyle said.

"Yeah, but he's not usually all secretive! What does he need to tell Mackey that he can't say in front of me?"

"Maybe it's something about his parents," Stan said.

"Maybe he doesn't want you trying to kill them after you hear whatever they've done now," Kyle suggested.

"Oh, thanks!" Kenny said. "That makes me feel loads better."

"I'm not here to make you feel better!" Kyle snapped. "I'm pregnant! Leave me alone!" He stomped off, and Stan shrugged.

"Gotta go," he said. "Are you really gonna go see Cartman?"

"I guess," Kenny said, mumbling. "I get so few opportunities to fucking do anything for Butters. If he wants me to see the fat ass, I'll see the fat ass."

Stan caught up with Kyle and accompanied him to his locker, where they retrieved Kyle's books and coat. Stan helped him into it, and Kyle tiredly watched him do up the buttons.

"This does give me another day to study for that test," Kyle said. "But I'm not much of a night owl. Sleeping all day sounds pretty great right now, though."

"Should we go see Craig?" Stan asked as they headed down toward his locker. "Like Mackey said?"

"Are you crazy?" Kyle boggled at him. "No!"

They went back to Stan's house, which was empty, and Stan pined for sex while they lay in his bed together. Just watching Kyle study for his trig test gave Stan a boner, and he pressed it to Kyle's thigh casually, as if by accident, hopeful. Kyle looked over at him.

"That was hot, before," he said, softly.

"What was?" Stan asked.

"When you said, 'I'll kill him.' About Jason."

"Oh. I will, if you want me to."

"No, you won't." Kyle traced Stan's bottom lip with his finger. "That's what I love about you. You're not some hot-headed dick, but you think you are."

"I do?" Stan rubbed himself on Kyle's thigh, just a little. "I wish I could have seen you push him out of his chair."

"I think it was pretty clownish," Kyle said. "This almost five month pregnant kid wearing his boyfriend's clothes, trying to pick a fight."

"Still, you got him out of the chair."

"Yeah, true. Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss, um. Could you just lie inside me, like. Without thrusting? The thrusting really tweaks my back."

"Sure, dude, yeah." Stan was throbbing and ready to blow even at the thought of Kyle's tight heat all around him, even without friction. "You know, I could do some research," he said, because he already had. "Sex positions that are easy on the back."

"I'm too tired for new positions," Kyle said. "Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. I just want to lie here and squeeze around you for, like. An hour. Until I fall asleep. Will that drive you crazy?"

"Yes," Stan said, mounting him. "In a good way."

"Are you sure? I don't want it to be bad for you."

"Dude, being in you could never be bad," Stan said. Kyle smiled, and opened his lips for Stan's tongue when he swooned in for a kiss.

"I would never talk to Mackey without you," Kyle said while Stan rummaged for lube. Stan had stripped all his clothes off, and Kyle was only wearing his shirt, pulling it down over his erection as if he was afraid that it had gained weight, too.

"Yeah, that was kinda weird," Stan said. "I didn't want to say so in front of Kenny."

"Butters is a mess, dude," Kyle said. He rolled onto his side, away from Stan, and pulled his right ass cheek up, as if Stan needed reminding about where his hole was located. "He was sh-shaking like a - ah! That's cold."

"Sorry," Stan said, salivating, unable to tear his eyes away from what his fingers were doing, rubbing circles around Kyle, some combination of teasing and relaxing him. Kyle moaned and let his head drop to the pillow, his eyes closing.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he said. "_Stan_, mhmm. Get in there."

"Shh, just let me finger you a little. It's been - a while."

"Three weeks," Kyle said, and Stan was heartened. He hadn't been sure if Kyle was keeping track, too. Kyle writhed and whimpered while Stan felt him. He pulled some of the blanket he was clutching into his mouth and chewed it, pinching his eyes shut. "It's so hard to keep still," he said, breathless. "I just wanna - fuh, fuck myself on you, and it's not even _you_ yet."

"Just relax," Stan said, squeezing Kyle's shoulder. "Let me do the work."

He milked an orgasm out of Kyle before sliding his cock in, and Kyle was humming dazedly as he took it, drooling onto the blanket that he'd been biting. Stan pushed Kyle's shirt up in back so that he could feel Kyle's skin on his bare chest, and he sighed when he was all in, daring a hand up under the front of Kyle's shirt. Kyle flinched a little, moaning.

"Are they still sore?" Stan asked, touching the barest boundary of a nipple.

"Not as bad," Kyle said. He was mumbling, and Stan would suspect that he was slipping into sleep if Kyle's ass wasn't fluttering all around him in purposeful little twitches.

"How about these?" Stan asked, cupping Kyle's chest. He was still in A-cup territory, and Stan was glad, because apparently even these made Kyle feel like he had two anchors weighing him down.

"They're okay," Kyle said. He moved his ass back just a little, moaning.

"Is that what you wanted?" Stan asked, his hand sliding down, just ghosting over Kyle's stomach before settling on his thigh. "This feeling?"

"Yuhh, yeah." Kyle gave him a sharp little squeeze. "Just like that. Stan, _God_. Just, just. I'm so glad you fit in me. You know? You feel so big, Jesus. I can't believe I'm big enough to contain you."

Stan laughed under his breath, because Kyle sounded delirious. He put his hand up under Kyle's shirt again, feeling for his softness a little more pointedly this time. Kyle allowed it, with a warning grunt.

"Want to hear something gross?" Kyle asked.

"Sure," Stan said, because he felt like he might come just from Kyle's greedy clenching, and he wanted to last the whole hour.

"I think about this in class," Kyle said. "Just - I imagine you in my seat, you know, and I'm in your lap, and your fly's open and my pants are around my ankles, under the desk, and everyone can see, we're in _class_, and you're just, all casually rubbing my back while I try to take notes and pay attention, and I'm sweating, 'cause you're in me, just sitting there inside me, and I want to fuck myself on you but I'm trapped, because my thighs are pressed to the desk, my cock is pressed to the desk, under it-"

"Goddamn," Stan said. "Stop, okay, don't - I'll come."

"From this? It's so absurd! I have to stop thinking about it at school, it gives me random boners. They're easy to hide now that I'm wearing those baggy clothes, though." Kyle sighed contentedly. "This is so good," he said, reaching back to palm Stan's ass. "Exactly what I wanted, God, _thank you_."

"Dude, thank _you_," Stan said, hugging him, and they both laughed at how idiotic they were, thanking each other while they had motionless butt sex. Stan was truly grateful, though. He licked and nipped at Kyle's neck, mapping the varying responsiveness in Kyle's glorious little ass twitches.

"I'm gonna fall asleep," Kyle said after they'd been at it for a while. "But I want you to come, poor Stan, don't you want to come?"

"Yes," Stan said, because he'd begun to shake uncontrollably, and his balls were so full, getting painful.

"When you pull out I'm gonna be - God, I'm gonna be gaping," Kyle said, and Stan whimpered, nodding, his face tucked to Kyle's neck. "I want you to come in my ass, just. Jerk off into it, alright? Hold me open and shoot into me."

Stan barely held back long enough to do so, and he was very glad that his parents weren't home. The sound that ripped out of him when he came was enough to make his geriatric dog howl down on the first floor.

"Was it good for you?" Kyle asked, rolling onto his back with a wince.

"_Kyle_," Stan said. "I just - just. I just emptied a fucking river into you. I've never - I don't think I've ever come like that before, dude. Didn't you feel it?"

"I felt it," Kyle said, and he grinned.

That night, after Stan had driven Kyle home for dinner, Mackey called the house and explained about the night school program. Unfortunately, Stan's father answered the phone, three or four beers into the evening.

"So what do you make of all this, Mack?" Stan heard his father saying from the kitchen. Stan was on the couch with his mom, pretending to study Chemistry notes while staring mindlessly at her Dancing with the Stars show.

"Yeah, yeah," Randy said into the phone. "I'm still pretty shell shocked. I see him bringing his little friend around here, and it's like, whoa. This kid is really getting fat. This is really happening."

"God," Stan muttered. His mother muted the show and reached over to touch his arm.

"Don't be embarrassed," Sharon said. "It's just Mr. Mackey."

"I'm not embarrassed," Stan said, though he was. "He shouldn't call Kyle fat. He's not fat. He's just putting on baby weight. It's different."

"I know, honey," Sharon said. She smoothed Stan's hair. "I know."

"Has Sheila called you about her wonderful plan?" Stan asked, picking at a thread on his sleeve. Sharon sighed.

"Sheila just wants what's best for you boys."

"You think that's best? Letting her take over?"

"No," Sharon said. "But if the four parents could work out some what to share responsibility for the baby while you boys go off to school, I think that might be best."

"Mom," Stan said, looking over at her. "Was Shelly planned?"

"Stanley! What a question! Of course she was. You were both planned and very wanted. One girl and one boy, just what we'd hoped for."

"Alright, well." Stan could feel himself choking up, and he hoped his father would continue rambling on the phone for a while. "I think I want my baby. And everyone acts like I'm some monstrous moron for that. Even Kyle. Especially Kyle, sometimes."

"Kyle is very confused," Sharon said. "And you are, too, honey. And that's okay. You're certainly not a monstrous moron. You're just so - sweet, oh, Stan, it's okay, come here."

By the time Randy returned to the living room, Sharon and Stan were both in tears, hugging.

"Oh, shit," Randy said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Sharon said. "Randy, just – go have another beer."

"Hey, c'mon," Randy said, walking around the couch. He knelt down and put his hand on Stan's knee. "What's the matter, buddy?" he asked, like Stan was six years old and crying over a dead bird he'd found in the woods.

"Randy, really!" Sharon said. "What's the matter? What do you think is the matter? He's got the whole world on his shoulders."

"I know it's tough," Randy said. "I remember when Sharon told me she was pregnant with your sister, I kinda flipped out—"

"Randy, _not_ _now_!"

"It's okay," Stan said. He sat up, sniffling. "Dad, just. You're not gonna let Kyle's mom steal my kid, right?"

"Steal him?" Randy glanced at Sharon. "Well, hell no I won't, son."

"She's just trying to help," Sharon said, rubbing Stan's back. "In her way."

Upstairs in bed, Stan could feel his parents' concern for him in the air that circulated through the vents, coming in along with the white noise of the central heating. He felt younger than he had in a long time, his eyes crusted and puffy, in the aftermath of awkward but amazing sex. He tried to come up with some lyrics for how he was feeling, to do with a bell pepper and a little house that he'd built without meaning to between the points on Kyle's hips, where his hands often rested, but after a few hours of tossing and turning and trying to come up with words he decided it was probably just fucking instrumental.


	9. Chapter 8

The following Monday, Stan was allowed to sleep in while his parents left for work in the morning. He was now officially enrolled in night school, along with Kyle and all of the other pregnant boys and their partners. Even Wendy had consented, reluctantly, to participate. They would have their first class that night, starting at five and ending at ten, with a thirty minute break for dinner at seven thirty. Stan was looking forward to having everyone in the same room together for the first time since Cartman's disastrous Pregnant and Pissed Off meeting. He kind of hoped the last two months of high school would mostly be focused on preparing them for parenthood, maybe with some sitting in a circle and talking about their feelings mixed in, though he knew Kyle would loathe that.

Stan dragged himself out of bed at ten and showered. He didn't plan to waste his whole day sleeping, or to waste the opportunity to work daytime hours. He put on a nice shirt, tucked it into some khaki pants, and added a tie. He was determined to find at least a part time job by the end of the week.

After talking with the day manager of Bennigan's and the pharmacist at Walgreen's, Stan had a couple of applications but no promises that either place was hiring. He was driving toward the public library when he got a text from Kyle:

_My house is cold. Could you bring me a decaf Harbucks caramel latte with whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle? And come here to hug me while I drink it? :)_

Kyle had long ago mastered the art of sugaring his demands with sweetness, and Stan was already looking forward to hugging him, and to a candy-like coffee of his own, as he typed as his response.

_will do give me 20 mins_

After sending this, Stan realized he only had two dollars. He gave up on getting an application from the library and went home to scrounge for change in the couch cushions and on his parents' bedroom dresser. Even a small latte was $4.25, and Stan had just enough. He had to take twenty cents from the change dish on the counter to pay for Kyle's extra caramel swirl.

"Oh, shit," Kyle said when Stan showed up and delivered the coffee. "I should have told you I wanted a large."

"Sorry," Stan said. "How're you feeling?"

"Are you asking me or the fetus?" Kyle asked, because Stan was looking at Kyle's stomach.

"You," Stan said. "And can you at least call it a baby?"

"I'll call it a baby when it gets out here and acts like one," Kyle said. He went to the couch and sat down. Stan held him while he drank his coffee, annoyed that Kyle didn't offer him a sip. He was placated, somewhat, when Kyle let him stare openly as he licked every drop of caramel he could scrape up off his straw. He tasted good when Stan kissed him, and it was worth the price of the coffee.

"I can't wait to get a job," Stan said later, when they were preparing for class.

"I suppose I should get one, too," Kyle said.

"No, dude," Stan said. "Your back."

"I hate being an invalid," Kyle said. He was stretched out on the floor near his bed, his history book open on his chest. "It's like I'm sending you out to chop wood for me or something."

"I have a thing for chopping wood," Stan said. "It's okay."

"And then you just make me feel worse with your complacency!" Kyle said. He seemed like he might get genuinely angry for a moment, then he smirked at Stan, who was giving him an incredulous stare. "You know what I was thinking last night?" he asked.

"What?" Stan walked over to lie beside him. Apparently this particular spot on the floor was the only place where Kyle's back felt okay.

"In school," Kyle said, "In this sad sack version of school? Me and you are gonna be the most popular kids. You know? The coolest!"

"Oh my God."

"Well, go ahead and laugh. You've always been cool. Even dating you didn't really help me much. This is gonna be crazy. We're the best couple, Stan! Easily!"

"Who was the best couple outside of this crowd?" Stan asked, settling his hand over Kyle's stomach. He kept waiting for a kick, and so far he'd felt nothing. It was disconcerting, like standing at the front door of their house while the sun started to go down, waiting for his kid to answer his calls for dinner.

"I don't know who the best couple was," Kyle said. "Some gorgeous hetero juniors, probably. The point is, we are in the all-gay school of my dreams, where I have the hottest boyfriend."

"Wendy and Cartman will be there, too."

"Oh, well, they're basically a gay couple. Wendy's pretty butch. She did the impregnating, after all."

Stan chose not to mention that, by that reasoning, Kyle was pretty effeminate for being impregnated.

They packed their dinner together in a little cooler: a meatball sub with marinara and mozzarella, Kyle's replacement for his beloved roast beef subs with extra mayo. Stan was already feeling hungry, and Kyle was, too. They stopped at Burger King on the way to school and ordered shakes.

"Can you pay?" Stan asked. "I'm kind of - short."

"Yeah," Kyle said. He handed over his debit card while they waited for the drive thru attendant to pass them their shakes. "This is cutting into our apartment fund, though."

"It's okay," Stan said, choosing not to mention that he'd already blown through his half of their savings while catering to Kyle's appetite in the past nineteen weeks. He sort of couldn't believe that Kyle was still hanging on to the dream of moving into their own apartment together over the summer. It was possible that he was still seriously thinking about adoption, something that Stan was afraid to even contemplate.

"This is so weird," Kyle said as Stan pulled into the parking lot at school. It was empty except for just a few cars.

"I think it's kinda cozy," Stan said. "You know, as much as you might get annoyed with them, these people in this class are all our friends."

"Craig Tucker is not my friend," Kyle said.

"Give him a chance," Stan said, unbuckling his seat belt. "He's kind of funny in a fucked up way."

It was cold outside and getting dark, and the school was a bit creepy when they make their way inside, only some of the lights in the hallway still on. Kenny and Butters were just inside the door, by the locked-up administrative office. They were hugged around each other, whispering, and they both looked up and smiled when they saw Kyle and Stan.

"Let's crack open a few cold ones and get the party started," Kenny said when Stan reached out to smack his hand.

"I could go for a cold chocolate milk," Butters said.

"Stan got me a milk shake on the way here," Kyle said, and he sounded so smug about it that Stan didn't have the heart to remind him that he'd paid.

"Boys?" Mr. Mackey leaned out from the study hall room and waved to them. "Down here, m'kay? You can put your lunches in the fridge in the teacher's lounge."

"Our dinners, you mean," Kenny said.

"Sure, m'kay, your dinners."

They walked through the study hall toward the teacher's lounge, which was connected. Wendy waved to Stan, and Cartman lifted his lip a little when Stan waved back. Cartman looked pretty bad, puffy and tired, his hair messed up like he'd just rolled out of bed. Wendy looked like she was standing at the end of a plank with a sword to her back. Clyde and Token were seated at the table beside theirs, Token arranging his books on the desktop while Clyde ate some Peanut M&M's.

"Wow, the teacher's lounge!" Butters said when Mackey led them inside. It didn't seem all that glamorous to Stan; it was kind of sad, really, with the florescent lights and the dingy countertops that were the color of faded Pepto-Bismol. Stan secured their sub and two cans of ginger ale in the fridge, thinking of how the bread would be soggy as hell by the time they had their break. Kyle liked it that way, fortunately.

"So you're our teacher?" Kenny said to Mackey, sticking his rumpled paper sack in beside Butters' pale blue lunch bag.

"No, I'm just about to shove off home," Mr. Mackey said. He seemed nervous, like he wanted to flee this pregnant company as quickly as possible. "Your teacher should be here any minute."

"Who'd you get?" Kyle asked. "An adjunct from CSU?"

"Mhm, no, not quite," Mr. Mackey mumbled, wandering back toward the study hall. "Let's see, is everyone here?" He held the door as they left the teacher's lounge, surveying the room. "We're missing Mr. Tucker, looks like, and a few others."

"Craig and Tweek will be late," Kyle said. He sat in the back, at the desk he used to share with Stan when they had study hall together. Stan settled into the chair beside him and scooted closer, until their shoulders touched and Kyle's hand came to rest on his thigh. He hoped their night school teacher wouldn't snap at him for touching Kyle the way the hall monitor once had.

Someone came to the door, and for a moment Stan thought it was their new teacher. He hardly recognized Henrietta, who wasn't wearing her usual dark makeup and fishnet sleeves. She had on some eyeshadow and maybe lip gloss, but otherwise looked as if she couldn't be bothered, and her outfit was covered up by a knee-length black coat.

"What the hell's she doing here?" Cartman barked as Henrietta took a seat at the table in the back that was across the aisle from Kyle and Stan's. "Excuse me," Cartman said, turning toward Henrietta. "Wrong room. This is the special pregnant kids classroom. Not a general freak education area."

"Fuck off," Henrietta muttered, folding her arms over her chest, which was more sizable than it had been the last time Stan noticed her in the halls.

"Eric, turn around," Mr. Mackey said. "Ms. Biggle has been appropriately enrolled in this class, m'kay, end of discussion."

"Oh, Jesus," Cartman said, mumbling. "Who knocked her up, anyway, the devil?"

"Stop," Wendy said sharply, and Cartman huffed but stayed silent. Stan leaned across Kyle to peer at Henrietta, and he gave her a smile when she glanced at him.

"Hey," Stan said. "You can put your dinner in the teacher's lounge." He pointed, feeling dumb. "There's a fridge."

"Mine doesn't need to be refrigerated," Henrietta said. She produced a protein bar from her coat pocket and held it up.

"That's all you brought?" Stan said.

"Stop being nosy," Kyle said, pushing Stan back into his seat.

Tweek entered the room with coffee, Craig trailing behind him and looking more miserable than Henrietta and Cartman combined. He was wearing sunglasses and a huge parka with the hood pulled up. Even with his disguise, Stan could see in his cheeks that he'd gained more weight.

"Craig, is that you in there?" Mr. Mackey asked, and he laughed at his own joke. "M'kay," he said when no one else did. "Your teacher should be here any minute."

Craig and Tweek took the table in front of Kyle and Stan, and Stan tried to give Tweek an encouraging wave, but Tweek was too preoccupied with Craig. He pulled Craig's chair out for him, his jaw tensed as if he was afraid to mess up this complicated maneuver, then began fishing things out of his shoulder bag and setting them in front of Craig: a notebook, two pens, and finally a can of V-8 juice. He cracked it open and handed it to Craig when he reached for it listlessly.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute now," Mr. Mackey was muttering, checking his watch. Stan kissed Kyle on his temple when Mackey was distracted, and Kyle gave him a confused little smile. Stan shrugged. He felt comfortable here. This night school thing was a really good plan.

Stan was watching Tweek watch Craig drink his V-8, noting the way Tweek was paying rapt, trembling attention, as if he had painstakingly crafted the tomato juice himself and was waiting to see how Craig liked it. It was so mesmerizing that Stan didn't immediately place the voice he heard out in the hall as Mackey walked over to greet their teacher. When he thought he recognized that bitterly sarcastic drawl that he hadn't heard since childhood, he looked up at Kyle, frowning, because that couldn't be right. Kyle's eyes had gone wide.

"No fucking way," Kyle said, full volume, as Mr. Garrison walked into the room. He looked roughly the same as he had in elementary school, with a little less gray hair, his eyelids slightly heavier behind that same pair of square frame glasses. He walked to the front of the room and regarded the class in stony silence, everyone staring back at him in shock as Mr. Mackey fidgeted guiltily in the doorway.

"Well, Jesus Christ, Mackey," Garrison said, setting a worn briefcase on the desk up front. "I thought this was a fucking prank."

"Kids, you remember your old fourth grade teacher, Mr. Garrison," Mr. Mackey said. "M'kay, he's here to help out so you can finish up your senior year in a safe, accepting environment."

"What." That was Craig, the death knell of his nasal monotone emerging from somewhere within the parka's hood.

"So, alright, I'll just leave you all to get reacquainted!" Mackey dashed off at that, and Wendy actually stood, as if to chase him and demand an explanation.

"Wendy Testaburger, I didn't think you had it in you," Mr. Garrison said. He flipped open the clasps on his briefcase.

"This is - this is a joke, right?" Wendy said. She whirled around to gape at Kyle, then turned back to Mr. Garrison, who was taking magazines from his briefcase and stacking them on the desk. "You're not qualified to teach high school courses!" Wendy said.

"Says you," Mr. Garrison said. "High school, fourth grade, what's the difference? What you kids need now is some practical child rearing advice."

"We're supposed to be preparing for our AP exams!" Kyle said.

"And what the hell do you know about raising a kid?" Cartman asked.

"Everybody sit down and shut up!" Garrison snapped, and Wendy quickly fell into her seat. Stan experienced an old, uncomfortably familiar dread at the sound of Garrison's raised voice. They'd suffered under his tyranny for two years, and now he was back, seeming as unimpressed by their indignation as ever. Stan grabbed for Kyle's hand.

"It'll be okay," he whispered before Kyle could have a meltdown. Kyle gave Stan's fingers a painful squeeze.

"It will not!" he hissed. "I won't be relegated to some kind of retard class taught by the king retard just because I'm on the verge of becoming a fat, pregnant whale. Do something, Stan!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! Go run after Mackey! He's botched this whole thing up!"

"Kyle, stop being such a little drama queen," Mr. Garrison said, apparently having overheard this. Kyle turned his incredulous expression toward the front of the room. "You were always one of the smart ones - I'm sure you'll do fine on your AP tests. You smart kids can sit out in the hall and study together if you want. I'm only here for the steady paycheck, and because dealing with you little buttholes is slightly preferable to working at a Target in Fort Collins."

"So you're not gonna teach us anything?" Butters asked, sounding fretful.

"Can we bring beer to class?" Kenny asked.

"Hell no you can't!" Garrison said. "You aren't doing anything that might get me fired. Unemployment benefits aren't what they used to be, kids. That's lesson number one. And yes, Butters, I will be teaching the class. I got a whole stack of _Parenting_ magazines here to get through."

"Parenting magazines!" Kyle said. "That's offensive!"

"Well, I think you all know my policy on sensitivity," Garrison said. "It's a waste of time and tax payer's dollars."

"Yeah, well said," Cartman said. "Give me one of those magazines."

"Eric!" Wendy said.

"What?" Cartman snapped at her. "Like I'm going to get more use out of studying the Crimean War than I am out of reading an article about breastfeeding pillows? Wake up, Wendy! This is my shitty life now, okay? Either climb down into the fucking muck with me or go sit out in the hall with Butters and the Jew!"

"Oh, Jesus," Garrison said. "You boys are pumped full of chick hormones, aren't you?"

"Can we learn about that, please?" Clyde asked. He was tearing his empty M&M's wrapper into tiny pieces while Token watched, looking wary. "The estrogen? Because my doctor says I've got it and I need to know why it's doing this to me." He seemed to be on the verge of tears. Cartman and Wendy were fighting in angry whispers, fingers pointed in each other's faces. Kyle put his head in his hands and flinched angrily when Stan touched his back, as if this was his fault. Stan sighed. He supposed he'd better do something.

"Mr. Garrison?" he said, raising his hand.

"Yes, Stanley?" Garrison was seated on the front of his desk, legs crossed. "Oh, Christ, look at you two." He shook his head, gazing at Stan and Kyle, who still had his hands over his face, his elbows on the desk. "You know, there's a reason I made you two the gay parents back in fourth grade."

"Ha," Stan said. "Yeah. Anyway, um, I wanted to say that I think Clyde's idea is good."

"It is?" Clyde said.

"Yeah," Token said. He gave Clyde a tentative pat on the back. "We should do a unit on estrogen and its affects on the male, um, body. I bet there are studies."

"Are you gonna teach us how to change a diaper?" Kenny asked. "Because I think that would be good to know."

"How the hell would Mr. Garrison know how to change diapers?" Craig asked. He pushed his parka's hood down but left the sunglasses on. "He doesn't have kids."

"That's true," Mr. Garrison said, "But I do have years of experience changing my elderly mother's diapers, and I can show you little faglings some tricks of the trade."

"Excuse me!" Kyle said, popping out of his chair. He smacked both of his hands on the top of the desk, glaring at Mr. Garrison like he was about to vault it and attack him. "I will not sit here and be called a fagling!"

"Seriously, dude!" Stan said. "That's fucked up."

"Oh, Jesus, I meant it as an endearment." Mr. Garrison sighed and slid off his desk. "Look, kids. None of us are happy about being here. You kids are about to be up to your elbows in diapers and breast milk, God help you. I lost my aforementioned elderly mother last year, and it turns out she didn't have a big inheritance for me to roll away in a little red wagon." He gave Cartman a pointed look. "So let's all just help each other out, what do you say?"

"I'm going out into the hall," Kyle said, gathering his books. "That's what I say. I've got AP tests to study for."

"I'm coming with you," Wendy said.

"Ey!" Cartman said. "What does that mean, I have to change all the diapers? I'm already sitting here doing all the goddamn work!"

"I made you pancakes this morning!" Wendy shouted.

"Yeah, fucking fakeout pancakes with saw dust in them!"

"It's called flaxseed, and it's good for you!"

"Whatever!" Cartman was getting red in the face as he watched Wendy gather up her things. "Go ahead and ditch me in front of all these witnesses. It'll give me a better case when I challenge you for sole custody!"

"Like you really want to be alone with this baby and your mother," Wendy said, muttering to herself. She headed toward the door. "C'mon, Butters," she said when only Kyle followed. Butters stood with a sigh.

"Aren't you coming?" Kyle said, looking at Stan.

"No," Stan said. "I'm not taking the AP tests."

"Yes, but - Stan! Your education, ah. You don't want to fall behind."

"Just go, Kyle," Stan said. "It's okay. We'll learn twice as much if we split up." Despite Garrison's usual asinine behavior, Stan felt more like he belonged inside this room than out in the hallway. Kyle frowned, but he slipped out the door with Wendy and Butters without further protestation.

"Well, now that the buzz kills are gone," Garrison said when they'd shut the door behind them, "Who wants to talk about their food cravings?"

"What about estrogen?" Stan said.

"Fuck estrogen," Henrietta said, and everyone turned to stare at her. She had the sleeves of her coat pulled over her hands, and she fidgeted with them for a moment, glancing around the room. "I keep craving snails," she said. "I've never even had them, but I'm, like, fantasizing about eating them. Dipped in butter," she added, wilting more deeply into her coat.

"I want to eat laundry detergent," Craig said. Tweek flinched and swallowed down a shout. "I don't mean in a suicidal way," Craig said, turning to him. "And I'm not actually going to do it." He reached over to pat Tweek's shoulder. Tweek gnawed on his knuckles.

"All I want to eat is candy," Clyde said. "And syrup. And my doctor says I've gained too much weight," he said, mumbling.

"Mine said that, too," Henrietta said. She flicked the protein bar, which was sitting near her books. "I have to replace one meal a day with these fucking things."

"Alright, very good," Mr. Garrison said. He went the dry erase board and picked up a marker. "Estrogen makes you fat, we've established that." He wrote ESTROGEN on the board, underlined it, and wrote 1 - FAT underneath.

"Doesn't it make you more emotional and stuff, too?" Stan asked. "Like, prone to mood swings?"

"No, that's just Kyle," Craig said, and Kenny snickered.

"Oh, fuck you, Craig!" Stan said. "You threw a brownie at the wall!"

"That was regular anger," Craig said. He pushed the sunglasses up onto his heard. "Not pregnancy related."

"Bullshit," Cartman said. "And you should come over and paint my basement. There's still a grease stain."

"Okay, I'm gonna put 'bitchy,'" Garrison said, adding that to the list on the white board. Token huffed.

"Can't we use our iPads to look up actual stuff about estrogen?" he said. "Like, scientific studies?"

"Quit bragging about your fucking iPad, Token, God!" Cartman said. "Here's what I want to know." He sat up a little in his chair and looked around at everyone. "How much does it cost to get your boobs sucked out? 'Cause if these things don't disappear on their own I'm taking drastic fucking measures."

"It's like three or four thousand dollars," Henrietta said. "Unless you can prove that it's not just cosmetic. But it's really hard to prove."

"Fuck me in the fucking ass," Cartman muttered.

"Don't you have your Dateline money?" Kenny asked.

"Fuck no, Kenny!" Cartman reddened. "I spent it."

"On what?" Clyde asked.

"None of your fucking business!"

"Can we sit in a circle?" Stan asked. Everyone stared at him. "What?" he snapped. "We're all talking at once, anyway."

"Damn, Stan," Cartman said. "If Kyle wasn't developing such a hilariously fat ass, I'd think you were the pregnant one."

"You should talk!" Stan shouted.

"Boys, boys," Mr. Garrison said. He seemed to be attempting not to smile, as if this was hugely entertaining for him. "Let's not sit around deliberating over whose ass is fattest."

"Yeah, it's pretty pointless with Cartman in our midst," Kenny said.

"Ey!"

"Everyone shut up and put your chairs in a goddamn circle," Mr. Garrison said. "And get your notebooks out. I've got some stuff about C-sections to read to you from the April 2008 edition of _Parenting_."

They arranged their chairs in a circle, and Stan ended up sitting between Henrietta and Tweek. He made notes on the C-section article, hoping that they would be helpful to Kyle later. Terrell hadn't told them much about what the operation and recovery would be like. Occasionally, someone would break in with a concern or anecdote, and Garrison allowed it.

"What's everybody having?" Kenny asked at one point. "Butters' doctors won't tell him."

"That seems illegal," Token said. "Um, we're having a boy."

"Lucky," Craig said. "Ours is - female." He gave Henrietta a disapproving look, and she scowled at him.

"What if she asks us about her period?" Tweek asked, grabbing for his hair. "I don't know anything about tampons! Gah!"

"That's what your mom is for," Cartman said. "Duh. Mine's a girl, too, but I'm not worried. At least girls aren't all Oedipal and shit."

"Oh my God," Token said, covering his face.

"You would worry about that," Craig said.

"I'm just saying," Cartman said. "If she grows up wanting to kill one of us, it'll be Wendy. You gotta think about these things, Clyde," he said, pointing to his temple.

"Alright, here we go," Token said, holding up his iPad. "Estrogen's effects on men: fatigue, loss of muscle tone, increased body fat, loss of libido and sexual function, and an enlarged prostate."

"Hey, fuck you," Craig said. "I'm still - functioning."

"I'm just reading what it says on Web MD," Token said. He glanced around the circle. "Any of that, uh. Sound true for you guys?"

"I'm tired all the time," Henrietta said.

"Is your prostate enlarged?" Cartman asked, snickering.

"No," Henrietta said. "Is yours?" She glared at him. "You're seriously making fun of me for being a _girl_ and being pregnant? What even is that?"

"What's the deal with having an enlarged prostate?" Tweek asked, fidgeting. "Can you die from that?"

"I don't think so," Token said. He was scrolling on the iPad. "I think it makes you have to pee a lot."

"Oh, yeah," Garrison said. "There are some benefits, though, too..."

The door opened, and Butters poked his head inside, looking nervous.

"Um, hey, fellas," he said. He glanced at Henrietta. "And Miss. Wendy and Kyle were just wondering if we should have our dinner break now."

"The Jew hungers for his gefilte fish, eh?" Cartman said.

"Cartman, I swear to God!" Stan said.

"What?" Cartman said. "The little fucker made fun of me for being fat since the day he met me! Just let me savor this, Stan! I have so few pleasures in life these days."

"Alright, children, let's head into the break room," Garrison said. "All this talk of prostates is making me kinda hungry myself."

"Oh, my God!" Wendy said, poking her head in beside Butters'. "What the hell is going on in here?"

"Don't worry about it," Cartman said. He stood with a grunt, wincing, and touched the small of his back. "Just - ah. Get back to reading Sylvia Plath with those human vaginas."

Tweek made a strangled noise, as if the thought of human vaginas was too much for him to bear. Stan looked at Henrietta and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry you're having to deal with all these assholes," he said as the others headed into the break room. Wendy and Kyle were lingering in the doorway, whispering to each other, probably plotting mutiny. Henrietta shrugged.

"It's no different than any normal day at school," she said.

"Your, um, friend didn't want to come with you?" Stan asked. "The kid with the red streak in his hair?"

"Wren's parents wouldn't let him," Henrietta said. "They think I'm a bad influence. They always have."

"Oh." Stan glanced over at Wendy and Kyle. Wendy was still whispering furiously, and Kyle was nodding, looking at Stan. "Well," Stan said. "You can sit with me and Kyle at lunch. If you want."

"Thanks," she said, and smiled a little.

"How's class going so far?" Kyle asked, walking over to them while Wendy headed for the break room, answering Cartman's shouted complaints about the healthy lunch she'd packed for him.

"It's okay, actually," Stan said. "Garrison's kind of letting us lead the discussion. You know, it's like when we were kids. He's just kind of - there, piping up occasionally with some smart ass remark."

"Fantastic," Kyle said. He glanced at Henrietta. "You must be hating this," he said.

"It's not that bad," she said.

"Well, _I_ think it's horrible," Kyle said. "Me and Wendy have already drafted a letter of complaint to the state school board."

"Dude, don't do that," Stan said. "Whoever they send as a replacement could be worse. At least Garrison lets us talk to each other. Look, he let us put our chairs in a circle and everything."

"Stan, I'm losing two months of my education here! It's not fair!"

"Life usually isn't," Henrietta said. "In my experience."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Kyle said, giving her a hateful look. Stan took his elbow.

"Dude," he said. "C'mon, let's eat. I'm starving."

"You're just saying you're starving because you know I am," Kyle said, sulking, but he allowed Stan to put an arm around his shoulders and lead him into the break room. Henrietta followed, glumly unwrapping her protein bar. The three of them sat at a table with Wendy and Cartman, since Craig's gang had gravitated together. Butters and Kenny had gotten permission for a joint trip to the "bathroom," so they were somewhere in the school, napping or fucking. Mr. Garrison was standing at the microwave, heating up some foul-smelling frozen dinner.

"Has Kyle told you the plan?" Wendy asked, sneaking a look at Garrison.

"Stan is against it," Kyle said.

"What plan?" Cartman asked.

"We can't talk about it here," Wendy said. She unwrapped a sandwich that Cartman was staring at intently. He was frowning with suspicion, and he groaned at the sight of the sandwich once it was unveiled, presumably because there was something green on it - spinach, Stan guessed. He felt kind of bad for not including any vegetables in Kyle's meal, unless the marinara counted. Kyle was happily devouring the sandwich, and Stan wondered if he should offer his half, though he was pretty hungry.

"What the fuck," Cartman said, scowling at his sandwich.

"Grilled chicken with spinach and a feta spread that I made myself," Wendy said sharply. "Eat it."

"A _what_ spread?" Cartman whined. "Feet?"

"I said eat it, Eric!" Wendy said, and Stan was stunned when he did. Kyle seemed surprised, too. He set what was left of his sandwich down and stared at the spectacle of Cartman chewing spinach, a stem protruding from his lips before he sucked it in. "I made you cookies for after," Wendy said, patting him.

"They'd better not have any of that sawdust seed in it," Cartman said.

"They're delicious and you'll love them." Wendy looked at Stan and winked.

"You're gonna be hungry," Stan said, eying Henrietta's protein bar, which was already mostly gone. She shrugged.

"I'm always hungry," she said.

"Your doctor shouldn't be putting you on a diet," Kyle said. "It's normal to gain weight. You _need_ those calories."

"He said obesity is dangerous," Henrietta said, mumbling.

"It certainly is," Wendy said. She looked at Cartman. "And you two will be glad that you ate healthfully when this is all over and you've got less baby weight to lose."

"Oh, my God," Kyle said. "Wendy, shut up."

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Don't tell my woman to shut up!" Cartman threw in, talking with his mouth full.

"It's so fucking easy for her to say!" Kyle said. "I'm sure if Wendy was pregnant she'd gain exactly the weight of the baby and not an ounce more."

"Don't be stupid," Wendy said. "I'm not saying 'don't gain weight.' I'm saying, 'don't eat an entire pan of cheesecake brownies as an afternoon snack.'"

"I haven't eaten a single fucking cheesecake brownie!" Kyle said, shouting.

"Whoa," Kenny said, arriving in the doorway, Butters hugged under his arm.

"Welcome back to the estrogen fields," Garrison said.

"Dude," Stan said. He touched Kyle's back. "She's not-"

"I'm not _talking_ about you, Kyle," Wendy said, beginning to look as pissed off as he did. "You look fine."

"Fuck you!" Kyle said. "Don't tell me how I look! I don't care what you think!"

"Dude!" Stan said, squeezing his shoulder. Kyle shrugged his hand off.

"Children," Garrison said, sighing as the microwave went off.

"I'm not a child!" Kyle said. He stood, his chair skidding backward. Craig was laughing into his hands. "I don't want to do this," Kyle said. "I quit."

"Kyle," Stan said, but Kyle batted his hands away and headed for the doorway. Stan sighed and followed him back out into the study hall, leaving his soggy sandwich almost entirely uneaten.

He found Kyle out in the hallway, sniffling and pacing amid the books that the AP study group had left there. Stan had intended to give him some space, afraid that he was still combative, but as soon as Kyle gave him a watery look Stan hurried forward to hug him.

"I feel so gross," Kyle said, rubbing his face against Stan's shoulder. "Wendy's going to _Yale_, Stan."

"You might be, too," Stan said.

"No," Kyle said. He peeked up at Stan. "I got my rejection letter two days ago. I didn't want to tell you."

"Oh - dude." Stan held Kyle's face and kissed his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted that. Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"Because it's embarrassing!" Kyle moaned and stood up taller, circling his arms around Stan's neck. "I'm supposed to be one of the smart kids. Everyone thinks so. Especially you."

"Plenty of smart people get rejected by Yale," Stan said. "Wendy probably just got in because she's a girl."

"That's a really gross, sexist thing to say," Kyle said. He leaned back a little to look at Stan. "Probably true, though."

"Totally," Stan said, though he doubted it.

"I can't believe you let her blow you," Kyle said.

"Dude, I was thirteen. And it wasn't even good. I was afraid I didn't like sex, remember?"

"Yes," Kyle said. He leaned up to lick Stan's lips apart. It was slow, seductively gentle. "I remember teaching you that you did," he said.

"Mhmm-hmm," Stan said. "Um, we should go back in. You're making me kinda hard."

"Let's fuck in the school," Kyle whispered. "Maybe not now, but sometime during this little adventure."

"So you're not dropping out of school?"

Kyle rolled his eyes to dismiss this. "I can hardly control what I'm saying. It's like being drunk, and then rapidly sober. Fuck Wendy, though, really. She thinks she knows everything. Do I have to apologize to her?"

"Maybe," Stan said. "If you want some of those flaxseed cookies."

"I don't, God! Fuck her cookies even harder. And why are you being nice to Elvira?"

"Dude, don't call her that. She's really - I feel bad for her. She's all alone."

"Oh," Kyle said, and he threw his arms around Stan's neck again, hugging him hard. "Thank God I have you."

Kyle was in an almost disturbingly chipper mood after that, and Wendy claimed to accept his apology, though Stan could see she was still annoyed. The cookies she'd made were passed around to the whole class, and Kyle pointedly refused one, citing his diabetes. After dinner, Kyle returned to the hall with Wendy to study, and Butters joined the class, which quickly devolved into Garrison gossiping about who'd done what in South Park since he'd returned from Fort Collins. Tweek buried his nose in one of the _Parenting_ magazines, Craig and Cartman were playing some kind of game on their phones, and Clyde had rested his head on Token's shoulder as they read from some website on his iPad. Butters was in Kenny's lap, whispering with him and giggling intermittently, which left Stan and Henrietta to entertain Garrison.

"How's that uncle of yours, Stanley?" he asked. "The big guy, Jimbo."

"Jimbo's okay," Stan said. "Ned was in the hospital a few weeks ago with some kind of infection, so he was dealing with that. But he's fine."

"You know they're a couple, right?" Garrison said.

"Uh," Stan said. "I don't think they are."

"No, they are," Garrison said. "I mean, they don't go to the clubs or anything, but everybody knows about them."

"Um, okay."

"I'm surprised he hasn't taken you under his big gay wing," Garrison said. He had his legs crossed, and he was wagging his foot around like he was conducting an orchestra with it. "That Ned used to be quite the little twink back in the day, you'd be surprised. Kind of like Kyle, you know, pre-bloating."

"Heh," Cartman said, presumably appreciating a comment about Kyle's bloating, his eyes still on his phone.

"Does Mr. Slave still live in South Park?" Stan asked, as revenge for that remark about Kyle. Mr. Garrison groaned.

"No," he said. "He moved to Arizona with that slut."

"You mean Al?" Henrietta said.

"Yeah, whatever his name was," Garrison muttered. "Anyway, the whole scene's pretty dead here, not that it was ever very lively to begin with. I had hope for your generation, since so many of ya'll turned out queer, but now you're all pregnant."

"Why do you think so many boys in your class turned out to be gay?" Henrietta asked, addressing this to Stan.

"Um." Stan glanced at Garrison, but he seemed distracted, staring into space. "I think Ms. Choksondik and Mr. Mackey scared all the boys away from girls with their sex ed lessons."

"No, no," Kenny said, looking up from Butters' neck, which he'd been nuzzling at shamelessly for the past ten minutes. "It was Marjorine."

"Kenny!" Butters said. He laughed and hid his face against Kenny's cheek.

"It was Kyle," Stan said. "For me."

"Kyle turned you gay?" Garrison said, paying attention again.

"Well, no."

"Yes," Cartman said. "Kyle turned everyone in class gay with his evil daywalker powers. Fortunately for me, I'm immune, because I'm a recessive ginger carrier. At least that tainted blood's good for something."

"Cartman, shut up," Stan said, though he was kind of impressed by the extent of that particular conspiracy theory. "Kyle was my-" Stan blushed and glanced around the circle. Suddenly everyone was looking at him. "Awakening," he mumbled. "Personally."

"That's real sweet, Stan," Butters said. Kenny snorted, and Stan shot him a look.

"Not all of us are gay," Clyde said, lifting his head from Token's shoulder. "Some of us just had gay sex on the night of the party."

"Oh, Jesus," Mr. Garrison said. Token was staring at Clyde, his lips parted. Clyde sneaked a look at him before staring at the iPad again, his cheeks getting pink.

"I mean," Clyde said, glancing at Token again. "I probably am. I don't know. Maybe I just have that libido thing."

"Clyde-" Token said, but he was cut off by Cartman, who yelped and grabbed for his stomach, his phone fumbling out of his other hand.

"What's wrong?" Butters asked, hopping out of Kenny's lap. Cartman's eyes had blown wide, and he still had his hand over his stomach. He looked as if he'd frozen just before leaping out his chair.

"Cartman?" Stan said.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?" Garrison asked, sounding bored.

"It - get Wendy," Cartman said. He'd gone white, but the color was rapidly returning to his cheeks, the flush spreading toward his ears. "It, like. Moved. It's - fuck! It did it again! WENDY!"

"Let me feel!" Butters said, trotting over. He reached for Cartman's stomach, but Cartman slapped his hand away.

"Wendy!" he shouted again, just as she threw open the door.

"What's wrong?" she asked, running for him. "What's the matter?"

"Feel this," Cartman said. "C'mere - Jesus _Christ_, that's so fucking weird! Fuck!"

"Don't curse in front of your baby," Butters said, but he was grinning, bouncing a little as Wendy knelt down and pressed her hand to Cartman's stomach. Everyone moved in a little closer, even Craig.

"I can't - oh." Wendy smiled up at Cartman. "Oh, wow. It's not just gas or something?"

"No, it's not just gas, Jesus!" Cartman said. "It's kicking."

"She's thanking me for forcing that healthy sandwich down your throat," Wendy said. She kissed Cartman's stomach a few times, and his blush intensified.

"Have you guys had this yet?" Cartman asked, looking around at them. Kyle was lingering in the doorway, his arms hugged around himself like he was cold.

"I have," Henrietta said. "Mine moves all the time."

"Oh, you don't count," Cartman said. "Ha, so mine is the first one to move? That means it's the best!" He held up his hand, and Stan rolled his eyes when Wendy slapped him a high five.

"That is so cool," Wendy said, rubbing her hands around Cartman's stomach. "Butters, come here. You can feel if you want."

"Hey, no he can't!" Cartman said.

"Please?" Butters said, looking as if he might cry. "They won't even show me a picture of my baby."

"Ugh, fine."

Butters knelt down beside Wendy and put his hand where hers was. After a moment, he cried out with delight and laughed.

"She's an ass kicker," Cartman said.

"Like her mom," Stan said, and Wendy grinned at him. Stan got up and walked to Kyle, who still hadn't fully reentered the room. He was watching Cartman, looking uncomfortable.

"Did you feel it?" Kyle asked when Stan reached him.

"No," Stan said. "I want, you know. The first one I feel kicking should be ours." He put his hand over Kyle's stomach, wishing that Elway would answer him with a kick. Nothing stirred, not even gas.

"Well, I'll be damned," Garrison said, and Stan turned to see him taking a turn with Cartman's stomach. Clyde and Kenny were feeling it, too. Cartman was distracted by Wendy, who was kissing him and petting his hair.

"Jesus," Kyle muttered, and the smile drained from Stan's face when he saw that Kyle was sneering. Kyle glanced at Stan sheepishly. "Well, you know," he said. "They could get a room."

After class, Stan drove Kyle home. It was strange to be out at night. They'd mostly been staying in since the pregnancy, and especially since Kyle's back pain had gotten bad. Kyle was quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Stan wondered if he knew that he had both hands resting on the bump of his stomach. He thought it was probably subconscious.

"Are you and Wendy really going to send that letter?" Stan asked.

"I don't know what we're going to do," Kyle said. "We did actually get a lot of good reviewing in after Butters went in with you guys. He's a nervous wreck."

"He is? He seemed okay, I thought."

"He tries to hide it around Kenny." Kyle sighed, and Stan saw his thumb move on his stomach, just a little. "He's afraid there's something wrong with his baby," Kyle said, looking out the window again. "Something they're not telling him."

"It's because his parents took him to that weird hospital," Stan said. "It's not right. But once he feels that baby kicking, he'll know it's okay."

"What if he doesn't feel it kicking?" Kyle asked. He turned to Stan. "What if it's not okay? What then? Butters would flip. He's so invested. And, Kenny, God. Kenny is over there begging Garrison to teach him the art of diapers. He'd be heartbroken, and Butters would blame himself, you know how he is!"

Kyle was staring to cry by the time he finished, his eyes growing red and his lips shaking. Stan pulled the car into the small gravel lot out in front of Stark's Pond and parked. He left the engine running and unfastened his seatbelt, then Kyle's, pulling him into his arms. Kyle wasn't sobbing full on, just trembling and huffing against Stan's shoulder, his hands clawed into the back of Stan's jacket.

"I'm tired of feeling like this," Kyle said. "I'm not even me."

"Yeah, you are," Stan said. "Shh, it's okay. You can feel this way."

"Why was it Cartman's that kicked first?" Kyle asked, pulling back. "He always ends up winning somehow, it's such a cosmic joke. And Wendy, she's so smug. She gets all the good parts and none of the bad. And he listens to her! He lets her tell him what to eat! I should be like that. You should tell me what to do, just tell me what to _do_, Stan, please."

"Dude," Stan said. His voice was starting to shake, too. "I don't want to be like them. Me and you - we're the best couple in school, remember?"

"Why didn't Yale want me?" Kyle asked, his eyes welling up again. "How can you be with someone so mediocre? I'm washed up at seventeen."

"Kyle, c'mon," Stan said, his emotions subsiding in the face of Kyle's melodrama. He let Kyle cry against his chest for a while, rocking him. "You know you're not mediocre," Stan said. "Or washed up. Fuck Yale. Jesus, Kyle. I'm glad you didn't get in."

"I know you are," Kyle said, wailing. "Bastard, and you admit it."

"Well, can you blame me? I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want you to have to make that hard choice. That's what Wendy is facing, okay? Don't envy her too much. You saw the way she was kissing Cartman's stomach. She must really love him if she already loves that baby so much."

"She's baking for him," Kyle said. He sat up and wiped at his eyes. "She's so perfect, it makes me sick."

"Dude, she's in love with Cartman. That's hardly what I'd call perfect. And those cookies weren't that great. They did taste a little like sawdust."

"I knew they would." Kyle stared at Stan, his lip trembling. "Skinny girls are always terrible cooks." He cried again, as if acknowledging this was unbearable. "And Mr. Garrison!" he said, before Stan could comfort him. "He thinks I'm such a joke. And look at me, I am one! How is Cartman making his pregnancy look butch? What am I doing wrong?"

"Kyle, Cartman is wearing a bra! And Wendy told me he cried last week because his hair looked stupid. He's just putting on a act for everyone, like always."

Kyle seemed to mull that over for a while, sniffling. He started kissing his way along Stan's jaw, though he seemed much too tired for seduction.

"I want to be good to you," Kyle said, softly. "You deserve it, and I just - I want to give you what you need, Stan, and I'm so handicapped."

"Kyle, stop, you're exhausted-"

"I want you to be proud of me," Kyle said. He slipped his hand into Stan's coat and felt his chest like he was checking him for weapons. Stan was beginning to get aroused, but only in a confused, delirious way. "I want you to be glad you built your house on my sorry fucking land."

"Dude, I love you so much, don't-"

"I want a cheesecake brownie," Kyle said, pulling back. He looked at Stan very seriously, his eyes dry. "But I feel like, if I ate one - Wendy would know."

"You're just talking crazy now," Stan said, easing Kyle back into his seat. "Let's go home."

"Home? There's no home," Kyle said. "We were going to have our own place, Stan. I was going to dust your football trophies."

"I don't have any football trophies," Stan said. He put his seatbelt on and started the car.

"You know what I mean, though," Kyle said.

"Not really. Buckle up. You want a brownie? Better check your blood sugar."

"Oh, fuck the brownie," Kyle said. He moaned and buckled his seatbelt. "And fuck Garrison. Faglings. He actually said that. I'd forgotten how horrible he is."

"Do you think Jimbo and Ned are gay?" Stan asked as he pulled back onto the road. Kyle snorted.

"Stan," he said. "Are you joking? Of course they are."

Stan walked Kyle into his house and had a snack with him at the kitchen table while Sheila interviewed them about the night school experience. Kyle mostly grunted his responses, apparently not interested in sharing his indignation with his mother.

"You'd better be getting home, Stanley," Sheila said after half an hour. "It is a school night, technically."

"Can't Stan just sleep here?" Kyle asked. "What difference does it make?"

"The difference, young man, is that you are still living in my house, and I want you to get a good night's rest!" Sheila dropped a plate into the sink a little more forcefully than she needed to, and Stan went tense. "I can't have you monkeying around with Stan whenever you please - if I had nipped that in the bud when I could have we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Nipped it in the bud?" Kyle said. He turned, slowly, to glower at his mother, and Stan wanted to bolt. "Stan is my one happiness in the fucking world, mother. I'm so thrilled, though not surprised, to learn that you begrudge me that."

"Oh, go to bed," Sheila said. "You're starting to sound like Iago."

"The parrot?" Stan said.

"The character from _Othello_!" Kyle said, turning his indignation on Stan. "See, this is why we can't have Garrison educating you for another two months."

"What what _what_?" Sheila said. "Garrison? Herbert Garrison? I thought they forced him to retire!"

"They did," Kyle said, standing. "But they've drug him out for this special occasion."

"That's unacceptable! That man is a lunatic!"

"He's just eccentric," Stan said, not sure why he was defending Garrison, except that he still seemed like the loneliest person Stan had ever met.

"Well, what does it matter," Kyle said. He went to the sink and deposited his plate in the same angry, clattering fashion that Sheila had. "I didn't get into Yale."

"What - oh, Kyle." Sheila reached for him, but he moved away.

"It's fine," Kyle said. "It's good, even. I obviously don't belong there."

"What are you saying? Sheila asked. "Oh, bubbeh, come here."

"No, I'm just, I'm going to bed," Kyle said, mumbling. Sheila gave Stan a beseeching look as he rose from his chair, and he wasn't sure what she wanted from him. He followed Kyle into the living room and caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs, pulling him close.

"You're the smartest person I know," Stan said.

"Not true," Kyle said. "You know Ike."

"Ike's a freak."

"Stan!" Kyle leaned back to grin at him. "Yeah, a little. Mhmm - fuck! Why can't she let you stay the night? I can't stand being away from you right now. What if-" He broke off there and looked down at Stan's shirt. "What if the baby kicks and you're not there to feel it?"

"If that happens, just. Put your hand where you feel the kicking and tell him I'm not far away. Pretty soon he'll be kicking all the time, dude."

"Stop calling it a he," Kyle said. He checked over his shoulder. Sheila was in the kitchen, washing up.

"Sorry," Stan said. "I guess my mind just defaults to 'boy.'"

"Well, it shouldn't," Kyle said, mumbling.

"How come?"

"'Cause it's a girl," Kyle said. He looked up at Stan. "I asked Terrell. After I found out about Yale, when I was bummed. He said it's a girl."

"Oh - Kyle." Stan's voice broke on Kyle's name, and he cupped Kyle's cheeks very tenderly, as if he was suddenly more fragile. Kyle sniffed and cast his eyes down, showing Stan his dark red lashes. Stan had always thought Kyle's eyelashes were pretty, thick like a girl's.

"Don't," Kyle said. "Just - don't. It's possible that Terrell doesn't know anything. And what if - what if the government comes for our babies, dude? Because they're scientific anomalies or whatever?"

"You sound like Tweek," Stan said. He kissed Kyle's temples, his forehead, his cheeks, all very softly. Stan was shaking; he didn't want to let Kyle go. "Nobody's taking her away from us."

"I still don't like the pronouns," Kyle said, wincing. "Just say Elway. It's more surreal."

"I thought you were going up to bed?" Sheila said from the kitchen doorway.

"Don't tell her," Kyle whispered when he leaned up to hug Stan goodnight. Stan was reeling. He barely knew where to put his hands.

The familiar drive from his house to Kyle's passed in a blur, and soon Stan was walking up the stairs to his bedroom, still dazed. Elway was a girl. Not a boy, like the miniature version of himself that he'd been picturing at moments, not a football, not a bell pepper. She was a girl, a daughter.

Stan had been optimistic about the pregnancy after the initial shock, if not cheerful. It had felt like a game he was playing with Kyle, another way to keep him calm as he imagined crisis after crisis. Now it was real, a new weight in the air, and Stan was sick from what felt like a sudden change in elevation. He ran to the trash can by his desk and threw up, tasting marinara.

He wasn't able to sleep until the first light of dawn, tossing and turning and worrying that he didn't know anything about tampons, remembering his many failures to account for Wendy's often confusing feelings, and imagining his daughter's improperly braided hair and her insecurity in the presence of impeccably groomed, organically nurtured Kinglet Cartman, which was apparently what Cartman was insisting on naming his daughter.

At nine-thirty, he couldn't sleep anymore. He rolled over and groped for his phone, preparing to do something he never thought he would dare to try. He called his sister at college.

Shelly didn't answer, and Stan knew he was too stunned and sleep-heavy to leave a coherent message, but he left a mostly incoherent one anyway.

"Hey," he said. "Um, it's me. Stan. Your brother. Look, uh. Mom said she told you about the whole baby thing. I just, I haven't seen you, or talked to you, so I don't know what you're thinking about the whole - thing, but I just found out that it's a girl. Mom and Dad don't even know yet. I don't know why I'm calling you, _shit_. How are you? No, listen. Uh. You hated me when we were kids. Wendy hated me when we were dating. I don't think I can do girls. I mean, I'm not good with them. I mean, I was so sure, you know, that I could do this, and now I feel like I can't, and I just, I feel like someone gave me this fragile little wildflower with a ladybug crawling on it and asked me to carry it thirty miles through a driving blizzard, and Kyle is the flower, and Elway is the ladybug, and I can't put them in my coat 'cause they'd get crushed, and I can't just hold them in my hand 'cause they'd freeze, or blow away-"

There was a beep, and the recording cut off.

Stan spent the day wandering around the house rather than looking for work. He checked his phone for messages from Kyle, dreading a return call from Shelly, but there was nothing until three o'clock, when Kyle texted him to say that he'd just woken up. Stan packed their dinner for the evening, including a couple of apples and a carton of his mom's yogurt along with the day's sandwich, which was leftover steak and provolone on a hoagie roll. He was nervous about seeing Kyle, as if he would know that something had changed. But what _had_ changed? Stan suddenly felt outside of the whole experience, as if he was a clone who had woken up with his predecessor's memories but no real sensory data.

If Kyle noticed in change in Stan, he didn't let on. His mood improved throughout the week as he became more confident that Wendy and Butters were good study partners who would help him do well on his AP exams. Meanwhile, Stan sat in fuzzy silence in Garrison's makeshift classroom, tuning out much of the discussion until some personal detail that felt important came up: Clyde had developed gestational diabetes, Craig's baby had begun stirring every time he followed Tweek into his parents' coffee shop, Butters was eating raw limes, and Cartman was farting nonstop, which was hard to ignore.

"That was a good one," he'd declare while the rest of the class moaned and rolled away from him as if an earthquake drill had begun. Stan noticed that Cartman didn't pull that shit when Wendy was in the room, and wondered if Kyle had been sparing him from similar unpleasantness.

"Are there other things you're not telling me?" Stan asked on the drive home on Thursday night.

"Huh?" Kyle looked up from some text he'd been composing.

"It's just - you didn't tell me about Yale right away," Stan said. "Or the baby being a girl. That's pretty big shit. Especially the second one, which is not just about you." Stan had been worrying that he didn't have any legal rights, and that Kyle might show up on his doorstep one morning, thinner, and inform him that he'd given the baby up for adoption two days ago, adding in passing that Stan shouldn't tell Sheila.

"I regretted asking," Kyle said. "That's why I didn't tell you. It was a moment of weakness."

"Why?" Stan asked. "Why's it weak to want to know more about our baby?"

"'Cause I don't even like it when you call it our baby!" Kyle said. "So I should just stick with that feeling. That's the feeling to go with, not this pointless curiosity shit."

"What feeling?" Stan asked.

"Caution," Kyle said.

They were silent for the rest of the drive home. Stan kept thinking up horrible things to say and swallowing them down. Kyle had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was leaning away from Stan, his shoulder pressed to the passenger side door.

"Are you coming in?" Kyle asked when Stan pulled into his driveway.

"Yeah, of course," Stan said. "Unless. If you don't want me to-"

"I know we haven't had sex in a week," Kyle said. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stan asked. He was pretty sure it hadn't been a full week, for one thing. "I'm not complaining."

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Which really hurts my feelings! And now you're mad at me for not jumping at the chance to tell you that I'm a failure not just academically but at - I don't know, fuck. Willpower?"

"Are you gonna keep this baby or not?" Stan asked. "I need to know."

"Well, tough shit, because I _don't_ know!"

"I think you do and you're just not telling me!"

"No," Kyle said. He ripped his seatbelt off and opened the car door, climbing out. "You think you know that I am going to keep it, that I'm just - just, teasing you, like I'm wagging my butt at you while we're in public or something, playing some game with your emotions because I'm this tricky little minx or however the hell you see me-"

"Kyle, what the _fuck_-"

"But I really don't know! And the only thing I'm keeping from you is that sometimes I hate you for expecting me to!" Kyle slammed the door shut and headed for the house. Stan started to go after him but decided, fuck it. He'd had enough. He felt guilty for the squealing tires as he peeled out of the driveway, as if he'd just endangered Kyle and the baby, though Kyle had already made it to the front door and was walking into the house.

Stan thought about going to Kenny's, but he didn't feel like getting high or hearing about the most recent woes of Butters. Wendy's was out of the question, because that would be some sort of betrayal of Kyle. The prospect of Token's house seemed too intimidating at the moment, so he settled on Clyde's.

Clyde answered the door himself, in flannel pajamas. He looked enormous without his usual over-sized coat as armor.

"What's wrong?" Clyde asked.

"I don't know," Stan said. "Nothing. We're having a girl." He hadn't told anyone yet, unless his rambling message to Shelly counted. She still hadn't called him back.

"Oh," Clyde said. He looked around Stan's shoulders. "Where's Kyle?"

"At his house. Can I come in?"

Clyde stepped out of the way. His living room was dark, and his father was asleep in a arm chair, snoring quietly. There was a bag of Reduced Fat Cheesy Poofs on the coffee table next to a nearly empty glass of milk.

"Can I offer you some refreshments?" Clyde asked, picking up the Cheesy Poofs bag.

"No, thanks," Stan said. "I don't even know why I'm here. Are you glad you're having a boy?"

"Not really," Clyde said. "I kind of wanted a girl."

"Why?"

Clyde shrugged. "Girls are easier to talk to," he said. "They're nicer."

"Not all girls," Stan said. He considered the fact that Clyde was best friends with Bebe and sat with a table full of cheerleaders at lunch. "How are things with you and Token?" he asked, eying Clyde's father. He was still snoring.

"Token's great," Clyde said. "He's so great that sometimes I want to puke. Then I hate myself."

"Don't hate yourself," Stan said. "I think Token loves you."

"Stop saying that," Clyde said, though Stan had only implied it once, as far as he could remember. "Are you in a fight with Kyle or something?"

"How can you tell?"

"'Cause you're in my living room asking me about my relationship."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I am. But it's not really a fight. Me and Kyle don't fight." It was more like they had never had anything significant to fight about before now.

"That's nice," Clyde said. "Me and Token don't fight, either. We just sit in tense silence until I start crying, and then he holds my hand. You want one of my dad's beers?"

"Fuck yes."

They went out onto the back porch so that Clyde's father wouldn't be awakened by the crack of the can of Coors Light. Clyde watched Stan drink it, his big coat open around his pajamas.

"What'd you fight about?" Clyde asked.

"What do you think?" Stan said, not wanting to get into details. Clyde nodded.

"I shouldn't have said that in class the other day," he said. "About maybe not being gay. I just don't want Mr. Garrison to think he turned us all gay or anything."

"Clyde," Stan muttered, and he drank more beer.

"But maybe he did," Clyde said. "I still look at girls. I prefer them, aesthetically. But Token. I liked the way that _felt_, you know? Not that I don't like the way he looks. But, uh. Doing stuff with him – he made me feel like I wasn't this big oaf or whatever. Which sometimes, you know. Girls make me feel that way. I've been trying to watch gay porn to make sure that this is really what I want. Do you ever watch it?"

"Yeah," Stan said. It was a Sunday morning, post-sleepover tradition to laze around watching porn on Kyle's laptop and laugh at the stupidity of it while getting hard and casually pawing at each other. They hadn't done that in a while, actually.

"I watched this one the other day," Clyde said, "Where these frat guys shoved a hot dog in a guy's ass. Well, not real frat guys, I guess, but some porn stars pretending they were. It was a foot long hot dog, I think. It was pretty terrible, but it was one of those things where you can't look away. I couldn't really beat off to it, though. Mostly it made me hungry."

"I could give you some links," Stan said, and then he felt weird about the offer. He finished his beer. "Look, um, I gotta go. It's late."

"Alright," Clyde said. "I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Yep. Thanks for the beer." Stan turned to go, but Clyde caught his arm and pulled him back with such insistence that for a moment Stan thought he was going to be kissed. Clyde's eyes were wide and unfocused as he brought Stan's hand down to his stomach.

"Oh, God," Clyde said. He blinked once, twice, and Stan felt it. A kick, like a bubble rising to the surface of a pond, indicating something alive down below.

"It's so-" Stan said. He locked eyes with Clyde, wishing he was Kyle, and that the baby moving under his palm was Elway. "It's so small." It seemed like a stupid thing to say, and his throat closed up a little. "I didn't think it would feel so small."

"Jesus," Clyde said. He laughed. "That's the first time I've felt anything. Oh, man. It's so weird. So fucking weird." He was smiling, and he mostly looked relieved. Stan took his hand away.

"You should call Token," he said.

Not wanting to risk getting pulled over with beer on his breath, Stan left his car parked on the street near Clyde's house and headed down the road on foot. He wasn't remotely drunk, but he couldn't get caught for underage drinking; he couldn't do that to Kyle, to Elway. He was still choked up as he walked, pushing out occasional dry sobs, his arms folded high over his chest as the cold stung the back of his neck. He'd wanted his own baby's kicks to be the first ones he felt, and if Clyde hadn't grabbed his hand like that he would have declined. Maybe. He'd been pretty curious.

Between Stan, Cartman, and Kenny, Kyle's room had always been the easiest to sneak into, and they'd all had a habit of meeting up there if they had sneaking around to do as kids. Kyle's bedroom window was just over the awning that covered the front door, and the railing that framed the stoop made it a cinch to climb up onto the awning. It was even easier than it had been the last time Stan did it, when he was a little shorter.

Stan knocked on the window, and Kyle sat up in bed as if he'd been expecting him. Stan tried to meet Kyle's eyes as he unlatched the window, attempting to get a read on how he was feeling. He didn't seem to be crying, though his face looked a little puffy. He pulled Stan in by the collar of his coat, and Stan was careful not to fall onto him like he'd done when he was fourteen, fifteen, when they would start undressing each other before Stan was even all the way through the window.

"Here," Kyle said softly, pushing the window closed. He propped his pillow against his headboard and arranged Stan against it, into a slumped seated position. Kyle was wearing Stan's senior football jersey and nothing else – not even underwear, Stan found, when he ran his hand up under the jersey to cup Kyle's ass. "Do you want me?" Kyle asked, pushing Stan's bangs off his forehead.

"Dude," Stan said, the word breaking in two at the back of his throat. Kyle kissed him, rubbing his tongue against Stan's bottom lip until he caught it and sucked, moaning.

"Shh," Kyle said. He had an odd look on his face, heavy-lidded but determined, and he felt small despite the extra padding.

Kyle had always told him that he preferred being on the bottom not just because of the way Stan's dick felt in his ass but because he could lie down and give up trying to control everything all the time. It made sense to Stan, but he still liked it when Kyle got like this, moving Stan into position and sinking down onto his dick without asking for permission, leaving Stan to gape up at him in awe.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered, arching lewdly, his elbows on Stan's shoulders. "Yeah, see – _ah_. That feels good, dude. So fucking good, even at the small of my back. Like, like. _Ah_, yeah, like that." He was talking to himself, moving his hips in slow rolls as he fucked himself on Stan. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, and Stan was almost too entranced by whatever was happening to move, but he managed to swoon forward until he could suck at Kyle's neck, his hands clawed around Kyle's ample ass.

Afterward, they lay together, studying each other. Stan was afraid to speak, still out of breath and a little chewed up from the events of the evening. Kyle seemed calm. He slid his finger into Stan's mouth like he was fishing for whatever Stan would eventually say.

"I went over to Clyde's," Stan said when Kyle's finger slipped out, lingering on Stan's bottom lip. Stan didn't want anymore secrets between them, and the interlude with Clyde had been largely pointless, except for that one thing. "His baby kicked. I felt it – he grabbed my hand. He made me."

"What did it feel like?" Kyle asked.

"Like, I don't know. Popcorn."

"I know why ours isn't kicking," Kyle said. Stan was so afraid that he was going to say something horrible that he had to bite his tongue to keep from making a mournful sound. "It's 'cause our baby is like you," Kyle said. "Like, sweet. Like, she wouldn't want to scare me, or hurt me. She wouldn't kick me. She's like you."

"Please," Stan said, hoping Kyle would know what he was asking. "Please, please."

"I don't know how to do this," Kyle said, lifting his face to meet Stan's eyes. "But I think we're already doing it. That's what makes me lose my shit and not want to talk about it. I can't plan it, not even with that book. It's just happening."

Stan knew he was right, and he kissed Kyle hard, wanting to be in him again and too tired to do anything about it. He put his hand over Kyle's stomach and felt for their quiet baby, trying not to feel distressed when he couldn't tell if he was touching her or just Kyle's chubby waistline.

"I threw up," Stan said. "The other day, when you told me it's a girl."

"Oh, really?" Kyle frowned and cupped Stan's face. "I was relieved."

"No, not 'cause – it's okay that it's a girl. It's just now we know. Right? And I don't feel like I can go back anymore. I didn't even realize that I felt like some part of this was temporary, but I think I did, and now I don't, because like you said, it's happening. It's already happening."

"You're so tired," Kyle said, and Stan slept until his phone woke him, buzzing in his pocket.

It was late; the room was pitch dark and Kyle was asleep under his arm, curled up, his knees on Stan's thighs. Stan's mouth was dry from the Coors Light. He reached for his phone and squinted at the screen for a moment before he could even make sense of the sender.

The message was from Shelly:

_Sorry, needed a few days to process this. Don't tell him I said this, but I think you'll be a better dad than Dad. I'm pretty sure he never called Jimbo up and worried about me like I was some bug on a flower petal. Dad thought he'd be an awesome dad. And he's not that bad, usually. But if you're worried about it, I think that's better than not being worried about it. I know it wouldn't be easy, but if you really carefully put a flower and a bug in your coat pocket, and thought about nothing but their precise location the whole time you walked, I think you could get thirty miles through a blizzard without screwing it up. Not everyone could, but you could. See you in a few months. -S_

Stan fell asleep with his hand cupped around his phone, which was pressed between Kyle's shoulder blades. He woke up a few times feeling panicked, like the baby and Kyle were a huge and tremendously important homework assignment that he'd forgotten to do, something he would have to rush through in home room while the late bell rang. He lulled himself back to sleep by hugging Kyle closer and remembering what he'd said: it was already happening, plan or not. They were fifteen miles through the blizzard, and everyone was still safe in Stan's pocket.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This was one of those chapters that didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned - there have been a lot of those in this story. I can't decide if that's good or bad. Thanks so much to all who are reading, I've really been enjoying hearing from you about this one!

* * *

><p>After a month of attending night school, Stan had become accustomed to the various personalities that were unleashed after dark at Park County High. He was looking forward to school in a way that he never had before: Mr. Garrison didn't give them tests or homework, and nobody from the school seemed to notice or care. As graduating seniors who had already received their college acceptance letters, Stan figured it didn't matter that much to the administration if the pregnant boys' class time mostly consisted of sitting in a circle and flipping through old magazines about child rearing. Even Kyle was content to let Stan languish under Garrison's tutelage now that Stan had officially been accepted to CSU.<p>

"Have you heard anything about the scholarships you applied for?" Stan asked Kyle when they were on their way to school on a Friday evening.

"No," Kyle said. "But they must have passed my contact information along to some local newspapers, because I've been getting calls about interviews."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously." Kyle looked over at him. "I'm not going to do it," he said. "It's too humiliating. I'm not Cartman."

"I know," Stan said, patting Kyle's knee. It had been a long week, and they were both dragging, ready to get the Friday night class over with so they could go back to Stan's house and curl up in his bed. Stan lifted his hand from Kyle's knee and gave his belly a hopeful rub, but there were no stirrings from the baby. Kyle smiled at him sadly.

"I'm telling you," Kyle said, "When you're not there, she moves a lot. You just have a calming presence."

"It's okay." Stan was afraid at moments that Kyle was only telling him that the baby was moving to make him feel better. He'd waited a few days to tell Stan after he finally felt Elway shifting around, somewhere around the five and a half month mark. Kyle hadn't wanted Stan to feel left out, and Stan knew it was ridiculous, but he did.

When they arrived at class, they had the usual half hour of milling around and chatting. Tweek had taken up knitting, which apparently calmed his nerves a great deal, and the click of his needles provided a kind of backbeat to their chatter, making the whole thing feel, to Stan, rather homey. Wendy was still baking furiously, getting slightly better at it, and today she was passing out some kind of homemade granola in individual pink baggies, tied with fancifully curled green ribbon. Attached to each baggie was a green, white and pink invitation to Cartman's baby shower.

"I'm registered at Pottery Barn Kids and Target," Cartman announced as Wendy passed out the granola-accompanied invites. "And if you go online, you'll see that I've assigned a gift from each registry to all of you. That's two gifts _per_ _person_, not per couple."

"Eric," Wendy said, but she wasn't exactly scolding him.

Stan examined the invitation. Three smiling green frogs sat alongside the text, which announced that the shower would be held at Cartman's house, of course. Stan imagined Liane was already working on the menu, and that Wendy probably was, too, futilely attempting to compete with the best cook in town. Apparently tensions were high at the Cartman household, where Cartman was increasingly leaning on Wendy rather than his mother. Stan thought it was pretty brilliant, though no less than he'd expected from Cartman: he was using Wendy's need to win at all costs to make her tirelessly devoted to his every whim, mostly for the sake of outscoring Liane.

"Oh, look, you're inviting me," Garrison said when Wendy handed him an invitation.

"You can bring a date," Cartman said. "But only if he brings two presents. You'll see on the lists, the suggested presents for 'Potential Date of Mr. Garrison.' It's clearly marked."

"How nice of you to think of that," Garrison said.

"We are not bringing you four presents," Kyle said.

"Then I guess you're not coming, Kyle," Cartman said, glowering at him.

"Fine!" Kyle said. "Like I even wanted to!"

"No, you guys have to come," Wendy said. "We're going to do party games."

"Oh, God," Craig said. He dropped his granola onto the desk he was sitting on. "I can't go back to attending parties hosted by you people until I can drink again."

"You're gonna serve booze, right?" Garrison asked.

"No!" Cartman said. "Nobody will be drinking, out of solidarity of the guest of honor. Me!" he added, as if they might not know who the guest of honor was.

"Never thought I'd see the day that Liane Cartman hosted a dry brunch," Garrison said. "How's the old gal doing, anyway?"

"You'll find out if you show up with your assigned presents," Cartman said.

Class was the usual mix of everyone in the circle voicing their gripes about their various doctors and perusing pregnancy-related articles on their iPads and in Garrison's dated magazines. Stan tried not to boil with jealousy when Butters yelped and Kenny reached over to touch his stomach.

"She wakes me up at night sometimes," Butters said, resting his hand over Kenny's.

"She?" Stan said. "You finally found out?"

"I sneaked a look at my file," Butters said, smiling. "They marked the 'sex' box with an 'F.'"

"Why the hell are they trying to keep it from you?" Cartman asked.

"Well." Butters glanced at Kenny.

"They don't want him getting attached," Kenny said, his fingers flexing on Butters' stomach. "He's supposed to give her up."

"And when exactly are you going to spring your alternate plan on them?" Garrison asked.

"Don't tell them," Kenny said. "Please."

"Oh, calm down," Garrison said. "Stephen Stotch is the most pathetically hypocritical queen I've ever met. He can go to hell for all I care."

"Dude," Stan said. "That's Butters' dad."

"No, that's okay, Stan," Butters said. "He's a pretty hypocritical queen, it's true."

"Wait, hang on," Token said. "It's a good question. When are you going to break it to your parents that you want to keep your baby, Butters?"

"Yeah," Clyde said. He was eying Butters' stomach, which seemed like the biggest in class, possibly because he had the smallest frame. "Seems like it's gonna come up pretty soon."

"Aw, heck," Butters said, mumbling. "I don't know. I think I might wait until I'm holding her in the hospital. Once they see her, they won't want to let her go, either!"

"Oh, Jesus," Garrison said. "Let's break for dinner."

After class, Kyle was animated as usual, telling Stan everything that Wendy had said that annoyed him and interviewing him about what had gone on in the Mommy Circle, which was Kyle and Wendy's derisive name for Garrison's classroom. Stan thought it was kind of mean, and was a little worried about how disinterested Kyle was when it came to motherhood. Of course Kyle wouldn't be a mother, exactly, but he wasn't _not_ a mother, at least in some technical sense. During the twenty-four week ultrasound Terrell had mentioned that Kyle's prolatin levels were already getting higher, which probably meant his milk ducts were fully formed. Kyle had spent the rest of the afternoon in tears, curled against Stan's chest and holding the front of Stan's sweatshirt over his eyes.

"Pottery Barn Kids," Kyle said, turning the baby shower invitation over in his hands. He scoffed. "Cartman would be lucky to get a diaper cake from us."

"A diaper cake?"

"It's a thing." Kyle gave Stan a look. He never liked it when Stan knew less about baby-related matters than he did, as if Stan had caught him researching something other than special needs scholarships and anesthetization procedures during C-sections.

"Do you want to have one of those?" Stan asked.

"A diaper cake?" Kyle said, looking horrified.

"No, well - yeah, I don't know. A shower."

"Jews don't do showers," Kyle said. He tossed the invitation onto the dash along with the granola. "It's bad luck."

"Oh - what? Really?"

"Yes, really. No showers, no furniture for the baby until it's born. You're not even supposed to tell people about the pregnancy for five months. Or maybe it's three? I don't know, but they're very superstitious."

"You mean we," Stan said.

"We?"

"You said 'they.' What, you're not Jewish anymore?"

"Obviously I'm still Jewish!" Kyle said. He was getting worked up, red-faced. "But it's not like I could conform to the traditions. Everybody and their dog knew about this baby from week one."

"That's not true," Stan said. "We kept it a secret for a while."

"The point is, no shower." Kyle crossed his arms over his stomach and looked out the window. "It's so tacky, anyway. Party games. Ha!"

Stan was in a good mood once they arrived at his house, because it was Friday, and they could finally spend the night together. He was convinced that if he just stayed still enough and awake long enough, he'd be able to feel Elway moving while Kyle slept. He was somewhat obsessed with experiencing this, especially since everyone else was always commenting on something their baby was doing during class. Henrietta's had gotten the hiccups on Wednesday.

"Has Kenny talked to you about his plans?" Kyle asked when they were up in bed together, Kyle lying on his side while Stan rubbed his neck and shoulders.

"Sort of," Stan said. "Kenny's so smart in some ways, but he's so dumb in others."

"Yeah," Kyle said. "So what's his plan? Selling weed?"

"No," Stan said. "He's not that dumb. At least, not after he got beat up that time. He's got that job at the soap factory during the day now. Apparently there's health insurance."

"What good does that do for Butters?" Kyle asked. "They can't get married. Butters is going to be on the hook for all of his medical expenses, and his parents will pay that. They'll make sure he does what they want him to in the end, trust me."

"Butters stands up for himself sometimes," Stan said. "When you really push him."

"Standing up for yourself is one thing. Paying for an infant's medical care is another."

"Okay, but wait. Kenny is the baby's father. Legally, like. They could do a DNA test or whatever. Then he could at least have the baby on his insurance."

"It's not a solution," Kyle said. He moaned and rolled over onto his back, blinking up at Stan. "They'll need their parents' help, and Kenny's can't help financially. They're screwed, Stan."

"Don't say it like that."

"Why not? It's true!"

Stan didn't have a problem staying awake after that, and he fretted while he held Kyle, who was sleeping deeply, slumped against Stan's chest. Kyle's belly was heavy against Stan's, and Stan kept thinking he could feel the baby's heartbeat - he'd heard it was possible - but it was Kyle's heartbeat. Stan knew they were lucky, because their parents had been talking about supporting them financially from the beginning. He just wished that Kyle would say so, because he wasn't sure he was allowed to feel lucky if Kyle didn't.

In the morning, Stan's alarm went off at seven AM, and Kyle groaned, pulling the pillow over his face as Stan slid away from him. Leaving Kyle and the warmth of the bed on a cold Saturday morning was hell, but only for the first bleary ten minutes or so. After that Stan was back to being grateful to have the job, even if the pharmacy only gave him twenty hours a week and eight bucks an hour. That was still over a hundred bucks a week, after taxes, that he could use to take Kyle to a drive thru before class or out to dinner, though Kyle was less and less enthusiastic about being seen out in public.

"I'll be back around three," Stan said to Kyle, whispering this against his cheek.

"I love you so much," Kyle mumbled, and Stan kissed his cheek three times before leaving, feeling the pull of Kyle's body heat even as he headed out into the hallway.

Stan had worked a few shifts during the week before class, but most of the time he worked on Saturdays and Sundays, when the pharmacy was busy and the actual pharmacist needed help with the register while he filled prescriptions. Generally, people coming to the pharmacy were not in good moods. They were embarrassed, sick, or just annoyed that their insurance didn't cover more of their prescription costs. There were a lot of old people, and the florescent lighting made them look extra sickly, zombie-like at times. By the time Stan had his lunch break he felt like he'd been at work for several days. He sat out back behind the building, still wearing his white lab coat over his clothes while he ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Some of the cold from the morning had burnt off, but it was still chilly outside, though it was nearly May. Stan realized with dull surprise that he'd be graduating from high school in less than a month.

The depression closed around him slowly throughout the rest of his shift, though once he recognized what he was feeling it snapped shut over his head in a flash. Suddenly he couldn't stop thinking about how things would be if Kyle wasn't going to have a baby in three months. They would be planning which graduation parties to attend, Kyle would be selecting their outfits for any that had themes, and they would be calling the manager of the apartment building where they would soon move in together, their savings plumped by graduation gift money. Kyle would have had a lot of opinions about how they decorated their own little place, and Stan would have pretended to consider the options carefully, nodding along with Kyle as he talked himself through them. Stan wouldn't have cared if Kyle painted the walls neon pink and installed green shag carpet. He would have loved any place with both their names on the buzzer.

Now he knew they'd never have that. It would never be just the two of them, unless Kyle gave the baby up, and Stan was fairly certain that he wouldn't. It should have been a relief, and it _was_, but there was this other feeling, too. A measly twenty hours a week behind a register was exhausting, even without a needy infant or any real homework, and all Stan had to show for it was ten dollars and thirty-five cents until his next paycheck. That wasn't even enough to rent a hall closet at the McCormick residence.

After work, Stan used half of his remaining wealth to buy Kyle a pack of Nutter Butters and a little bottle of the strawberry kiwi punch he was into lately. Stan liked coming home with groceries. It made what he was doing feel somewhat worthwhile. He was hoping to be promoted to full time cashier position after proving himself on weekends, though he was fairly sure that wouldn't leave room for CSU. It was just as well; without scholarships, he'd have to take out student loans, and that was the last thing they needed.

Kyle was still in Stan's bed when he got home from work. He'd showered and dressed and was making notes on some novel, preparing for his AP English exam. Stan delivered the cookies and the drink, kissed him hello and flopped down into bed with him, too tired to muster the energy for a shower.

"You smell like band-aids," Kyle said, tucking his arm around Stan. "And hand sanitizer."

"Old people," Stan said. "I smell like a retirement home. I feel like a retirement home."

"Oh, c'mere," Kyle said. "Poor thing." He put his book and the snack on the bedside table and rolled toward Stan with a grunt. Stan rested his forehead against Kyle's and looked down at his belly, sliding his hand up under Kyle's shirt.

"Did she move at all while I was at work?" Stan asked.

"A little," Kyle said. "Probably nothing you could have felt from the outside."

"Maybe she doesn't like the sound of my voice," Stan said, feeling wounded and low.

"I think it's because she _does_ like the sound of you," Kyle said. "That's why there's no moving. Like she's listening."

Stan grinned and scooted down to press his face to Kyle's stomach. There had been little pockets of optimism in Kyle's attitude in the past few weeks. He'd even peeked at the twenty-four week ultrasound, though he'd quickly shuddered and looked away.

"Read to us from your book," Stan said, closing his eyes against Kyle's stomach.

"Us?" Kyle said. "Really? See, I throw you a bone and you always take it too far. You know what you should try? Play a song. I've heard that music can - cause reactions," he said, adopting a clinical tone again.

"I guess I could try that," Stan said. He sat up and groped for his guitar, which hadn't gotten much attention in the past few months. Kyle was always sleeping, or studying, and he had a low tolerance for Stan's musical stylings when he was trying to concentrate on something else.

Kyle ate his cookies and drank his punch while Stan played 'Spanish Guitar No. 5,' because it seemed like the kind of song that might speak to an unborn baby.

"Anything?" he asked after a few minutes, looking up at Kyle. He had crumbs on his shirt, and his lips were stained red from the punch.

"No, nothing," Kyle said. "You sound good, though!"

"Should I play the Sesame Street theme or something?" Stan asked. "What?" he said when Kyle laughed. "What should I play?"

"Play something original," Kyle said. "One of the instrumental ones that you used to play when we'd get high with Kenny."

"Dude, no! I'm not playing stoner music for our baby."

"It wasn't stoner music! It was - those are good memories. I would cry, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stan said. The only time Kyle was actually moved by his music was when he was high on Kenny's filthy bedroom floor, blubbering about how he thought trees were probably sentient and that he was pretty sure Stan had been one in a past life, whereas Kyle had been a bird. Actually, at the time, that had made Stan cry, too, because while he was high it seemed like absolute proof that Kyle truly _knew him_ in a way that no one else could.

Kyle abandoned his novel for his iPad while Stan continued to cycle through his repertoire, waiting for Kyle to shout that he'd finally played the right combination of notes to inspire their baby to action.

"Cartman's registry is ridiculous," Kyle said. "The Target one, anyway. He's assigned a Playstation 3 to Token. I'm supposed to get him a sixty dollar blender."

"Maybe he wants to make organic baby food with it," Stan said.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it's for, not Oreo milkshakes."

"Don't you want to have a baby shower?" Stan asked, though he wasn't sure he should press. It was hard to know; Kyle's moods had evened out somewhat, but he still took sharp left turns at times. "We could get presents, dude. For Elway. I'm sure some Jewish people think it's okay have showers. Look it up."

"I don't need to look it up," Kyle said. His voice was tight, but not quite rage-filled. "Of course some liberal sects believe that it's okay. But my parents aren't liberal! And neither am I."

"Dude, yes you are."

"Not about this," Kyle said. "Just drop it, dude. I don't need any more bad luck."

Stan wanted to ask what he considered to be bad luck so far, but he supposed the whole boy-getting-pregnant thing qualified pretty solidly, and not getting into Yale, too. He put his chin on Kyle's shoulder and watched him scroll through Cartman's registry, wondering if even a little part of him was jealous that Cartman would receive some of those gifts.

"Want to have sex?" Stan asked. He'd learned that it was worse to wait for Kyle to ask than to irritate him with humble requests, and lately Kyle had been more enthusiastic about exploring positions that were easy on his back.

"Ugh," Kyle said. "Sex. It's like yoga now. I can't wait until you can just put me over the side of the bed again. No, like. Can we just blow each other?"

"Of course," Stan said. He reached for Kyle's dick, which had become somewhat difficult to access in this position, requiring Stan to twist his wrist around Kyle's stomach. They both went quiet, and Stan could feel Kyle's self-consciousness growing while his cock stayed soft.

"Or, fuck," Kyle said. "Maybe you could just eat my ass. That way I won't have to be staring down at this goddamn mound of fat the whole time."

"You mean, um, you want to be on your hands and knees?" Stan preferred to have Kyle's thighs on his shoulders while he went to work down there, so he could feel Kyle's legs tense and relax.

"Yeah," Kyle said, sighing. "I'll blow you, don't worry."

"I wasn't worried."

"Here, let me do you first," Kyle said, sitting up with a grunt. "So I can go to sleep right after I come."

Something about these practical measures, or discussing them beforehand, made them both take a long time to finish, and they were moody afterward, jaws sore. Kyle's phone rang on the bedstand, and he picked it up and threw it across the room.

"Dude?" Stan said. Kyle huffed and settled back down onto the pillow, turning so that Stan would spoon him.

"It's my fucking mother," Kyle said. "She wants me to come home."

"Why?"

"I don't know! So she and Terrell can harass me. I'm so sick of both of them. I just want to stay here." He grabbed Stan's hand and held it fiercely to his chest, as if he expected Stan to try to goad him out of bed, too. Stan wanting nothing less, especially when a gentle rain started falling outside. He hugged Kyle to him and hummed under his breath, rubbing Kyle's stomach.

"Stop," Kyle said, and Stan did, but not before sighing to express his annoyance.

Around dinnertime the rain intensified, and Stan's mom came knocking. They blinked at her groggily when she slipped into the room, Kyle wearing only a too-small t-shirt and Stan naked except for the blanket over his lap. She informed them that Kyle's mother had been calling on the house phone, worried about him.

"I told her that you're fine," Sharon said, scratching at her elbow nervously. Stan wished she would leave; the room smelled like sex, and there was a lingering taste of Kyle's ass in his mouth. "But she wants you to call her, Kyle, and to come home for dinner."

"No, no," Kyle said. "I eat dinner here on Saturdays. She knows that."

"Yeah, I told her you were welcome to stay." Sharon shrugged. "She seemed kind of agitated."

"Oh, God," Kyle said.

"Have you been feeling okay?" Sharon asked. Though Kyle was constantly around, he rarely had conversations of substance with Stan's parents. It was the same for Stan with Kyle's parents. They'd been hanging around each other's houses since they were five years old, and their parents had gotten accustomed to ignoring the child who was attached to their own child's hip, because, historically, he'd never had much to say to them.

"I'm fine," Kyle said. "Just achy. And my fingers are kinda numb."

"They are?" Stan said. He hadn't heard that complaint yet.

"I got that when I was pregnant," Sharon said. "In my wrists, too. It was around this time, I think - six months, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kyle said glumly. "Is my belly button going to go back to normal? All the websites say it will, and Terrell says it will, but it's so freakish, what if it doesn't-"

"It'll sink back in," Sharon said. "Don't worry, um. I think one advantage to having a baby when you're young is that your body snaps back into shape more easily."

"Well, who the hell knows," Kyle said. "Considering mine wasn't designed to do any of this."

"I'm - gonna go finish dinner," Sharon said, already backing away. "Stan, are you alright?" she asked, frowning.

"Huh?" he looked down at himself. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, you just look a little out of it. Um, give your mom a call, Kyle. You're welcome to stay, but she wants to hear from you."

She left, and Stan headed for the shower. He brushed his teeth while the water got hot, and the bathroom was steamy by the time he climbed in. It felt good to be alone, which alarmed him after a few moments of peace. In three months, he might never be alone again. Kyle was already over at the house more than he'd ever been before. Kyle used to crave alone time, too, for homework or just some time to shoot hoops and think. It wasn't that Stan wanted him to leave; he hated being away from Kyle more often than not. It was just nice not to talk, or have Kyle shifting against him until he found a marginally comfortable position, or to get distracted by the shape of Elway under Kyle's shirt and need to put his hand there in case some tiny movement might be detected. Thinking that he might be missing something right that second, Stan turned the water off and climbed out.

"No," Kyle said sharply as soon as Stan walked through the door. He was on his cell phone, frowning. "No, that's not true. You know that's not true."

Stan got dressed, aware that Kyle was talking to Sheila. There was a lot of scoffing and arguing, which wasn't unusual, but something about the pure venom in Kyle's voice made Stan nervous. He usually didn't talk to his mother that way.

"You should be more worried that I'm eating too much," Kyle said. "I had plenty. Yes, she did. They don't care, Mom! They love me! I'm their family now!"

There was a silence, and Stan could hear the ascending lilt of Sheila's disapproval.

"I am not paranoid!" Kyle said. "And that's not the reason I don't - no! It's not that! I need to be with Stan right now, mother. You have to let me - I'm not a little boy anymore! Oh, really?"

Kyle hung up the phone and tossed it on Stan's bed like he was spiking a football. It bounced and jumped off the mattress, catapulting onto the floor before Stan could catch it.

"Careful," Stan said. "You'll break it."

"So what? I don't want to talk to anybody. I just want to hide until this is over. I'm so tired of her opinions!"

"What's she mad about?" Stan asked while Kyle pulled on his socks. He seemed to be struggling with it a little, wobbling, and Stan readied himself to catch him if necessary.

"She still wants Terrell to examine me three times a week," Kyle said. "It's ludicrous. I'm stable. I have _milk_ _ducts_, for fuck's sake. Everything's progressing according to schedule."

"It can't hurt to let him check," Stan said. "For your health-"

"My health is fine," Kyle said. "Drop it. I'm tired of being prodded. You know what I was just thinking about? They're going to want to study me for the rest of my life, periodically, to see how this whole experience ultimately affected me. Our baby, too," he said. He backed away from Stan's outstretched hands. "You don't get it," he said.

"Huh?" Stan said.

"Terrell isn't my doctor," Kyle said. "He's not working for me. He's in this for himself, studying the abnormality. And it's so like my mother to be on his side. Anybody who claims to have authority, she wants to hand me right over to them. Like this whole mission to get me to talk to a shrink. What, so he can write a book about the pregnant boy he treated? I don't fucking think so! This is her idea, and - fuck! Stan!"

"What?" Stan asked, his heart beating faster. He tried reaching for Kyle again, and was able to rest his hands on Kyle's shoulders. "What, dude?"

"I don't think the special needs scholarships people would have really given my information to these people who've been calling about interviews," Kyle said, his voice lowering. "I think my mom did."

"Dude, no. She wouldn't-"

"She wants me to sell my story!" Kyle said, pushing Stan's hands away. "She's said so before. She says I should do it intelligently before someone else gets the idea."

"That's - awful," Stan said. "I don't think she meant it."

"She says I'm prideful and that I've got to learn something about sacrifice if I want to have a kid." Kyle leaned into Stan's arms. "She makes me feel so guilty," he said, mumbling. "Like I should have known this might happen."

Stan was able to calm Kyle down, but he was quiet and sullen for the rest of the evening. They had individual Marie Calendar chicken pot pies for dinner, and Stan worried that Kyle was getting too much sodium and not enough green vegetables. Kyle went to bed early, and Stan stayed up watching TV with his dad for a while.

"Can I have a beer?" Stan asked when his father went to the kitchen for his third beer of the evening, which wasn't bad for Randy on a Saturday.

"Alright," Randy said after considering this for a moment. "I guess you're a man now and all."

"I guess," Stan said. Randy returned with the beer and Stan accepted it, clicking the neck of the bottle against Randy's when he tilted it forward.

"Don't tell your mom," Randy said.

"I don't think she'd care that much," Stan said. He drank some and returned his eyes to the TV. "Dad?" he said when Randy resumed his place on the other side of the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Why am I a man now?" Stan asked. "'Cause Kyle is pregnant?"

Randy took a long drink of beer. "I meant more 'cause you're eighteen," he said. "But I guess, well. You'll be a dad in three months, Stan. That's pretty big."

"So do you think Kyle is a man, too?" Stan asked. He picked at the label on his beer, not sure why this was bugging him. "Even though he's not eighteen for another month? Because he'll be a dad in three months, too?"

"Kyle is-" Randy said, and then there was a long pause. "Well. I'll put it this way. Kyle's not the one who went out and got a part time job."

"Dad, he's pregnant!" Stan said. "He gets back aches if he has to stand for a long time. He couldn't work a register for a seven hour shift."

"I'm just saying," Randy said. "I get the feeling there's always gonna be some kind of back ache that comes up when there's a job that needs doing."

"That's stupid," Stan said. "Kyle works way harder than me. He's got a partial academic scholarship to CSU. That's more of a fucking contribution than I've provided to our - financial situation."

"Look, I'm sorry I said anything." Randy drank, belched, and set his beer on the coffee table. "Kid just seems a little spoiled is all."

Stan went up to his bedroom as soon as he'd finished his beer, annoyed with his father. If Kyle were a girl, Stan's father wouldn't be calling him spoiled. It wasn't fair, and reminded Stan that, as willing as his father was to foot the bill for Kyle's Saturday night dinners, he still didn't really _get_ the whole _Kyle_ _thing_.

Kyle was asleep in the bed, or so Stan thought. As soon as Stan had finished undressing in the dark, Kyle moaned and rolled over to look at him.

"Dude," he said. "Can you get me some milk? And maybe some more Nutter Butters? I'm starving."

"I'd have to go out to the store for more Nutter Butters," Stan said, standing in the middle of the room in his underwear. Kyle stared at him, the pillow hugged to his cheek.

"Well, can't you?" he said. "It's only half past ten. The stores are still open."

"Dude, I just had a beer. I don't want to drive. What if I got pulled-"

"What are you doing drinking beer?" Kyle asked. "I'm sorry if dealing with me is driving you to utter despair, but-"

"Stop, dude! I just had a beer with my dad. It's no big deal."

"Fine, whatever," Kyle said, rolling toward the window. "I'll just lie here fucking starving to death while your offspring leeches nutrients from my swollen husk of a body."

"God, okay!" Stan started getting dressed. Kyle turned to frown at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked when Stan sat down to tie his shoes.

"Getting dressed to go to the store," Stan said. More Nutter Butters would essentially clean out his wallet. He'd have to borrow money from his dad if he wanted to meet Wendy and Kenny for brunch at Whistlin' Willy's as planned, and his father would ask him what he'd spent his last paycheck on, and would make judgmental but not inaccurate assumptions about Kyle when Stan answered vaguely.

"No, no, I don't want you to have to walk," Kyle said. "Just get me the milk. And some other kind of cookies. Whatever you guys have."

"We don't have any," Stan said, barely stopping himself from saying, _You ate them all_. "I think we might have some Goldfish."

"What flavor?"

"I don't know! Orange."

"Whatever," Kyle said, starting to cry. "Maybe I just won't eat. The baby can feed on my internal organs, why not? Maybe I should just go home."

"Dude, please," Stan said. He went to the bed and sat down beside Kyle, pulling him into a hug. "Don't be mad. I'm sorry we don't have any cookies, I wish we did-"

"I shouldn't eat them anyway," Kyle said, sniffling. He flopped his hand onto Stan's thigh. "Would you check my blood sugar?"

Stan did, and it was fine, though also true that Kyle didn't need anymore cookies that evening. Stan went downstairs to fetch a glass of milk and the bag of Goldfish. He knew Kyle didn't like to eat alone unless the food supply was very limited, so he joined him in polishing off the remainder of the bag.

"You taste like beer and salt," Kyle said when they were kissing sleepily, facing each other on the pillow. "Fucking – delicious," he said, yawning.

"The baby's not moving, is she?" Stan asked.

"No," Kyle said, scooting the bulge of his stomach more snugly against Stan's. "Why would she move? She's all cozy right there."

"Yeah," Stan said, grinning. Hearing Kyle say so was worth the various annoyances, dramas, and nagging worries of the day. He rested his hand on Kyle's hip, closed his eyes, and fell asleep without remembering set his alarm.

He still woke up in plenty of time to get ready for brunch. Kyle was sleeping deeply as Stan crept out of bed, and Stan gave him a very light kiss on the temple. He kissed Kyle's belly a bit more firmly before slipping out the door.

Whistlin' Willy's had been Kenny's idea. It was affordable, and they would be dining in a setting that they would all have to get accustomed to soon. Stan hadn't been to Whistlin' Willy's since he was eleven, and the wall of noise that hit him as soon as he pulled open the front door seemed vaguely threatening, whereas he supposed it had once excited him. He saw Wendy and Kenny sitting in one of the quieter tables near the restrooms.

"Morning," Kenny said as Stan took a seat beside him, across from Wendy. "How's your weekend been?"

"Okay," Stan said. "I gotta go to work in two hours."

"I have to work later, too," Kenny said.

"I thought the factory was closed on weekends?" Wendy said.

"It is," he said. "I got a Sunday night gig at a gas station."

"Oh." Wendy shuffled a bit. "I should get a job, shouldn't I?" she said.

"Nah, just let Liane pay for everything," Kenny said. "We won't think any less of you."

"It's not that," Wendy said, frowning. "It's - Liane is not exactly wealthy. And my parents do okay, but they hate Eric. And. And - oh, fuck. There's also this." She rooted around in her purse and pulled out a ring box.

"What's that?" Stan asked. It was a classy looking box, dark black velvet.

"Oh, shit," Kenny said. "Did Cartman-"

"I mean, look at this thing!" Wendy said. She popped open the box and set it on the table. Inside was a ring with an enormous, ostentatiously sparkly diamond solitaire on what looked like a platinum band.

"Fuck me!" Kenny said.

"Maybe it's fake," Stan said, feeling inadequate.

"I wish," Wendy said. "He spent all the Dateline money on it. Five thousand dollars! It's ludicrous. He thought it would impress me, but I flipped my shit. We should have that money for our baby, and rings like this depreciate as soon as you leave the store."

"Did you tell him that?" Stan asked.

"Aww, did you?" Kenny picked up the ring and moved the box around so that the overhead lights made it sparkle. "I bet you broke his fat little heart."

"No," Wendy said. "I told him it was too much, and I was going to go nuts on him for being so short sighted and stupid and childish, and for not knowing anything about the diamond industry, which is _repulsive_, okay, but then, he just - he gets this look on his face sometimes. Like this lost little boy."

"Oh, gross," Kenny said, setting the ring down. Wendy snatched it off the table and glared at him.

"Like the little boy thing isn't what you see in Butters," she said.

"Butters is more sexually and emotionally mature than both of your guys put together," Kenny said.

"Right," Wendy said. "I've heard all about his plan to melt his parents' icy hearts just by showing them your baby. As if they'll even look at her!"

"Hey, c'mon," Stan said. "Butters is doing the best he can. So is Cartman, I guess. That ring is ridiculous."

"I can't wear it," Wendy said. "I mean - I can't _marry_ him. God! That's insane."

"So you told him no?" Stan said. Kenny was still pouting over her comments about Butters, toying with a napkin.

"I said I had a rule that I couldn't get married before I turned twenty-five." She rolled her eyes. "So he has seven years to convince me it could work."

"Should I ask Kyle to marry me?" Stan asked, worrying that Kyle would see this ring and feel neglected.

"I don't know," Wendy said. "Do you want to marry Kyle?"

"What a stupid question!" Kenny said, loud enough to get some mothers looking at them. "Of course he does. He's Stan. Wanting to marry Kyle is what he does."

"So ask him, then," Wendy said. "I'm not going to get all bent out of shape about it," she said, looking at Kenny.

"Kyle says we're already married - spiritually." Stan smacked Kenny's shoulder when he laughed. "He says he doesn't believe in the institution. But what if he's just saying that? Testing me or something?"

"If that's what he's doing, then he doesn't deserve a proposal," Wendy said. She groaned and put her elbows on the the table, pulling at her hair. "What am I going to do?" she asked. "I spent all of yesterday making goodie bags to give out at Eric's baby shower. What have I become? I have to answer Yale by the end of the month. They want five hundred dollars to reserve my spot. And then full tuition is due in July. That's twenty thousand dollars. That's for _one semester_."

"They didn't give you a scholarship?" Stan asked.

"No," Wendy said. "I'm eligible for some Pell Grant money, but that's seven thousand dollars, tops. For the year. My parents said they can give me ten thousand a year, so that's twenty-three thousand dollars of loan money that I'd have to apply for, _per year_. More if tuition goes up, which it probably will. Then there's law school. And books!"

"Dude, calm down," Kenny said. "I thought CSU offered you a full ride?"

"They did, because - well, I'm sorry, but because they'd be lucky to have a student like me! I'm giving up Yale, you guys. I'm really - giving it up."

"It sounds like it would have been financially unreasonable even without a baby," Stan said.

"I could have gotten scholarships for sophomore through senior year," Wendy said, muttering. "Maybe."

The rest of their brunch was depressing. Even the pizza was bad. Kids ran among the tables, shouting to each other and begging their mothers for more money to feed into the arcade games or the vending machines. Their mothers looked exhausted and old, quietly angry. Stan saw Wendy and Kenny watching all of this, too, their posture straight and tense, like gazelles who were preparing to bolt. Between the three of them, they couldn't even finish one large pizza.

"You guys are coming to the shower, right?" Wendy said as they walked her to her car.

"Sure," Kenny said. "I heard there were goodie bags."

He hugged her and passed her to Stan, who also promised to come. He knew Kyle would be curious enough to go with him.

"We're not spending two hundred bucks on Cartman's presents, though," Stan said. "Kyle is determined to make him a diaper cake."

"That's sweet," Wendy said. "We'd love that."

"You would? I think he's hoping Cartman would take it as some kind of insult."

Wendy left, and Stan sat with Kenny on a bench out in front of the apartment building next to Whistlin' Willy's. Stan had lived in those apartments with his mother and Shelly for a few months, though he barely remembered it. He'd been catatonic with depression, something he ended up being medicated for during most of middle school. He'd stopped taking the drugs when getting boners for Kyle became an important part of being happy.

"What if Butters' parents don't come around?" Stan asked.

"I got a plan," Kenny said.

"You keep saying that."

"Look, you'd just think I was crazy," Kenny said. "But trust me. I have a way to get money."

"Does it have to do with selling something illegal?" Stan asked, glancing over at him. Kenny kept his eyes on the road.

"Not strictly," Kenny said. "But it's a last resort kind of plan. I'm making okay money at the factory."

"Oh yeah?" Stan thought it couldn't be more than twenty thousand a year, though he supposed the McCormicks raised three kids on something close to that. Kenny smelled like a bar of cheap soap all the time now, which, as factories smells went, wasn't that bad. "That's good."

"I hope our daughters will be friends," Kenny said, and Stan started to laugh, but when he looked over at Kenny he looked very serious, almost tearful. Stan hugged him, and Kenny hugged back with just one arm, sniffling against Stan's shoulder a few times before he pulled free.

"They'll be best friends," Stan said.

"I hate to think of you guys stuck in South Park, though," Kenny said. "Butters, too. Shit, even Wendy, though it kinda serves her right for turning up her nose at a full scholarship from CSU. Butters only got a partial one."

"What about you?" Stan asked. Kenny laughed.

"I didn't even apply," he said.

"Why not?" Stan asked. "Your grades aren't terrible."

"Well, whatever Wendy thinks, they're looking for a little more than 'not terrible' at that school. But, no, it's okay. I'll look after the kid while Butters goes to class. It works."

"You're allowed to be sad about getting stuck in South Park yourself," Stan said. "You might have gotten out."

"Nah," Kenny said. "Me and South Park are married. Spiritually."

Stan laughed, pretending to know what he meant by that.

He went home and found Kyle on his computer, attempting to research Dr. Terrell. He had yet to come up with anything incriminating on the guy, and though Stan didn't trust Terrell implicitly, he did think that he meant Kyle no harm, whatever else his interests were, and that Kyle was only fixated on loathing him because he wanted someone other than Stan to blame for his pregnancy. Stan napped for twenty minutes, got dressed for work, and drove Kyle to his house on the way there.

"I wish I could just stay at your place," Kyle said, eying his house when they were parked in the driveway. "She's going to be on me as soon as I'm through the door."

"Just tell her you're tired," Stan said. "Fake some tears if you have to. She's your mom, dude. She doesn't want to stress you out. She thinks she's helping."

"That's the worst part," Kyle said.

Stan's Sunday shift was only five hours long, but that meant he got no break, and the minutes dragged by, especially after darkness fell outside and Stan's stomach began to grumble. He wished he'd eaten more of that crappy pizza, especially since he'd spent his last five bucks on his share of brunch. He considered stealing a candy bar and decided against it.

He got home around six thirty and found both his parents in the kitchen, working on dinner and a bottle of wine. It still cheered Stan to see them getting along, though half the time he thought they'd be better off apart. He was allowed to have some wine in exchange for peeling the carrots.

"Cartman proposed to Wendy," he said, knowing they would both appreciate this gossip.

"Oh, Jesus," Randy said. "Dr. Stick Up His Ass must have loved that." This was his nickname for Sharon's boss, who was also Wendy's father.

"Randy!" Sharon said. She turned to Stan. "Tom must have flipped out, though, really."

"I'm not sure that he knows," Stan said. "I don't think Cartman asked him for Wendy's hand. He just showed up with a huge diamond."

"Yikes," Sharon said. She poured a little more wine for Stan. "I'm assuming she turned him down?"

"Not quite, but she's not wearing the ring."

When dinner was ready they moved to the table, where Stan continued reporting on his night school classmates. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as though he was capable of entertaining his parents just by talking. He felt like an adult, someone who had worked all day for his family, a real contributing member of the household.

There was a knock on the door just as Stan was clearing the plates, making room for the spice cake that his mother had made that afternoon. Randy went to answer it. Stan thought it must be Jimbo, because he was the only one who came by the house without calling first, but it wasn't him. It was Kyle.

"Dude!" Stan said. He put the plates down and hurried to Kyle, who was looking ragged and windblown, as if he'd walked there.

"Honey," Sharon said, following behind Stan. "What happened?"

Stan pulled Kyle into his arms before he could answer, rubbing his hands across Kyle's back to warm him. He was wearing his coat, but it was unbuttoned, and he was trembling.

"Mom and I fought," Kyle said. "It was terrible. I ran away."

"Oh," Sharon said, and she joined Stan in rubbing Kyle's back. Randy patted Kyle's shoulder awkwardly.

"That's alright, kiddo," he said. "It'll blow over."

"It won't!" Kyle said, lifting his face from Stan's chest. "I told her that I knew what she did, with the newspaper people, that she thought if they called me I'd give in and sell my story. She went through the roof. My dad, too. They called me ungrateful." Kyle's face pinched up, and he hid himself against Stan's chest again.

"Newspaper people?" Randy said.

"Shh!" Sharon said, swatting him away. "Come here, Kyle, come sit down. I'll give Sheila a call-"

"No, don't call her!" Kyle said. "I don't want her here. I never want to see her again." He pulled on Stan's shirt so hard that Stan was afraid it would rip. "She said I was a disappointment. That I broke her heart. She thinks I'm just this worthless slut." He hid his face again, moaning, and Sharon met Stan's eyes. Randy was backing away from the scene, toward the beer he'd left on the dinner table.

"Dude, no way," Stan said, petting Kyle's hair. "She doesn't think that."

"It sounds like a terrible fight, but Sheila loves you very much," Sharon said. "You know that."

"No, no," Kyle said, his voice muffled against Stan's sweater. He lifted his face and looked at Sharon. "Can I stay here?" he asked. "Can we live here, me and the baby? I can't live with her anymore, please."

"Ah -" Sharon looked at Stan, her mouth hanging open. Randy had frozen in mid-reach for his beer. "Of course, honey," she said, smoothing Kyle's hair. "Your - this baby, she's our grandchild. You're welcome here. But I have to call your mother, alright, to let her know you're safe."

"I don't want to talk to her," Kyle said, shaking his head. "Please."

"You don't have to," Sharon said. "Stan, why don't you take him upstairs? I'll bring you boys some milk and cake in a little bit, how's that?"

"Thank you," Kyle said. He pulled out of Stan's grip and hugged Sharon, who patted him awkwardly, still looking at Stan as if _he_ should know what to do. Stan held his hands out to show her he was at a loss.

Upstairs, Kyle was quieter, though still trembling. They stretched out in Stan's bed, propped up on pillows against the headboard, and Kyle sniffled into Stan's chest while Stan ran his fingers over Kyle's back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion. He wanted to ask a lot of questions, but he was afraid to get Kyle going again.

"I guess she denied it?" Stan finally said. "About the newspaper people?"

"Of course." Kyle tipped his face up to Stan's. He looked awful, worn out and almost unrecognizably puffy. "They make me feel like an outsider now," Kyle said. "Even Ike. He's so nice to me, like he still thinks I'm dying."

"Well, you're not an outsider here," Stan said. "You're a Marsh." He still hadn't told Kyle about Cartman's proposal to Wendy. Kyle smiled and pressed his face to Stan's jaw, closing his eyes.

"That's nice," he said. "But I don't feel like a Marsh, either. Your dad thinks I'm a nutcase."

"He doesn't, dude, and even if he did. He's pretty fucking nuts himself, so who cares?"

"No, it's alright." Kyle sat up and wiped at his face. "Me and Elway aren't quite Marshes or Broflovskis. You know, and it's okay. I'm glad I have something in common with her."

"Kyle, you're gonna have a ton of stuff in common with her," Stan said. Kyle scoffed.

"I hope not," he said. "For her sake." He sat back a little further and looked down at his stomach, sliding one hand over it. "I think I really hurt my mom," he said, softly.

"She'll get over it," Stan said. "That's what moms do. They take a lot of flack."

"What if she says horrible things to me someday?" Kyle asked.

"Dude, your mom wouldn't-"

"No, not her, she's already said some pretty bad shit. I meant Elway. What if she hates me and accuses me of sabotaging her?"

"I'm sure if she did, she'd go to her friend's house and worry that she hurt your feelings. Because she'll be sweet, like you." Stan pulled Kyle to him again.

"So now we're friends?" Kyle said. "I'm at my friend's house, worrying about this?"

"No, Kyle, you're my fucking husband, as far as I'm concerned. I guess I'm just not ready to picture our unborn daughter going to her boyfriend with emotional troubles. Sorry, bad choice of words."

"Well. Yes, and if you'd wanted to draw a really accurate parallel, it would have been 'girlfriend,' I guess."

"Fine, her girlfriend," Stan said. "As long as it's not Kinglet Cartman." Kyle laughed a little and pressed his forehead to Stan's.

"So I guess I live here now," he said, and Stan hadn't seen that coming, but he smiled as if he had.

Stan fully expected Sheila to bustle in and collect Kyle the following morning, but she did not. Stan packed their dinner for school as usual, and there was no word from Kyle's parents when they got home from class. As accustomed as Stan was to having Kyle with him during the weekend, it was strange to have him there on a Monday night. Kyle seemed determined to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He dressed in Stan's clothes, used Stan's toiletries in the bathroom, and insisted on loading the dishwasher after dinner. Stan's mother discreetly removed the steak knives and wine glasses before running it.

On Tuesday afternoon, Ike showed up with Kyle's remaining books, some clothes, and other personal effects. Stan brought him upstairs, where Kyle was attempting to get someone on the phone about his the status of his scholarship applications. He'd applied for single parent scholarships, young mother scholarships, and scholarships for entering freshmen who were suffering from 'miscellaneous life altering conditions' - diseases so rare that they didn't have their own dedicated scholarship foundations.

"Could you just come home?" Ike asked as Kyle inspected the things he'd brought.

"No," Kyle said. "I like it better here."

"But mom is awful," Ike said. "She snaps at us for everything. You accused her of selling your body, Kyle."

"I did not!" Kyle said, throwing a pair of socks back into the duffel he'd pulled them from. "I said that she was trying to bully me into making money off of my condition, which is true."

"No, it's not!" Ike said. "She wouldn't tell magazine editors to call you! She wants you to make some money off of this if you can, but she wouldn't betray your privacy like that."

"Oh, bullshit," Kyle said. "She'll go to any lengths to make me suffer if she thinks she knows that I'll benefit from it in the long run. Remember ooky mouth?"

"No," Ike said.

"I do," Stan said, irritated by its mention. He still didn't like the thought of Kyle and Kenny spending a whole afternoon exchanging spit, even if they had been eight years old and tricked into doing it by their mothers.

Ike left and Kyle stayed. There was no call from Kyle's mother that night, or the night after. On Thursday morning, Stan went down for breakfast early, unable to sleep because he kept waking up thinking he felt the baby moving, only to realize that no part of him was touching Kyle's belly. His father had already left for work, and his mother was preparing to, tucking her yogurt and an apple in with the sandwich she'd made for her lunch.

"Have you heard from Kyle's mom?" Stan asked, checking the kitchen doorway to make sure Kyle hadn't uncharacteristically roused before noon.

"No," Sharon said. "She was a little short with me when I called her that night. I think she's embarrassed. Or maybe she thinks we're stealing Kyle and the baby away from her."

"Will he live here, though?" Stan asked. "After we have - after the baby comes?"

"He can if that's what you two want," Sharon said. She seemed to consider saying more, but then only smiled and walked over to kiss Stan's cheek. "It wouldn't be an easy commute to CSU," she said.

"I don't think I'm going to go," Stan said. He expected an argument, or at least shock, but his mother only smoothed his hair.

"There's always next year," she said. "Things will be more settled then." She didn't seem sure of that at all, and when she hurried to leave the kitchen Stan thought it seemed like she was holding in tears.

Cartman's baby shower was on Saturday afternoon, and Stan had to miss the first two hours of it for work. He was tired by the time he clocked out, not in the mood for Cartman or any of the others, and certainly not in the mood for Mr. Garrison, who had frightened all the boys in class the night before, during a lesson on the horrors of the placenta. Apparently some people ate them. He'd announced this just before dinner.

"How's it coming?" Stan asked when he saw Kyle and his mother in the living room, putting the finishing touches on a "cake" made of diapers. Stan's mother had done most of the work, but Kyle had added a few touches that were surprisingly thoughtful. Apparently "frogs and lily pads" was the theme of the nursery, and Kyle had found a couple of plush, smiling frogs to stick on the top of the tower of diapers like a wedding cake topper. There was also a little spoon with a frog on it tied around the middle, secured with a green ribbon with white polka dots.

"I can't wait to see him try to throw us out over this," Kyle said. He stood up with a groan, bracing himself on the coffee table, and Stan hurried to help him. Kyle was slightly breathless just from standing, or from diaper cake construction. "These diapers will really come in handy," Kyle said, giving Stan a look like he had just endorsed a political candidate and wanted his sincere agreement.

"Yes," Stan said, feeling as if he might pass out from sheer exhaustion.

The party was well underway by the time they arrived, and Stan wasn't surprised to see that Wendy's baby shower games had devolved into everyone taking turns playing Halo on Cartman's Xbox. Wendy seemed bored, and she hurried over to hug Stan and Kyle as they came through the door.

"Kenny has a flask," Wendy whispered to Stan while Kyle brought the diaper cake over to the present table. "In case you need a drink, like me. Just don't let any of, you know, _them_ see you."

"Got it," Stan said, glancing at Kenny, who grinned at him as if he knew exactly what Stan was thinking. "Where's Butters?" Stan asked as he walked over to him. "Still grounded?"

"Grounded for life," Kenny said. He was slurring a little, and seemed like he'd done some pre-gaming in addition to whatever sips he'd been sneaking from the flask.

"Just what the hell is that thing?" Cartman asked when he wandered over to examine the new addition to his present table. "It doesn't look like a fucking blender, a dual-action massaging footbath, a Frog Critter Chair, or a complete set of Harlington Nursery Bedding, which was what you fuckers were supposed to show up with!"

"Dude, I didn't get you a Playstation 3 and you still let me in," Token said. "And that thing looks - totally cool, Kyle," he said, eying it warily.

"Diapers?" Cartman said. "What the hell do I need diapers for?"

"For your baby's ass," Kyle said. He'd already found a seat on the couch and had a plate full of Liane's chicken salad and some cheese cubes.

"Hello, Jew, that's what food stamps are for!" Cartman said. "Or welfare, or whatever the hell I can get my hands on in terms of free ride money. Gifts are supposed to be _luxury_ items, the kind of shit the government won't buy for me!"

"Eric, sit down," Wendy said. "You're getting worked up. Remember what Dr. Loretta said about stress." She patted Cartman's back and guided him back to the couch while he muttered about how he was really counting on getting that Critter Chair.

"Wow, you came," Stan said to Craig, who was seated in a wingback chair to the left of the present table. Tweek was perched on the arm of the chair, knitting furiously with some pale yellow yarn.

"I'm not gonna lie," Craig said. "I came for the food." He touched his baby bump self-consciously. There was a green and white party plate resting atop it, littered with crumbs. "I heard you guys are living together now," Craig said, eying Kyle, who was distracted by the game. Clyde and Kenny were playing, Kenny doing an shameless giggle thing that made his drunkenness pretty obvious.

"Who told you that?" Stan asked.

"Ike," Craig said.

"When the hell do you see Ike?"

"He's my dealer," Craig said.

"Uh," Stan glanced at Tweek, who was still knitting intently, apparently not perturbed by this. "You're still buying drugs?"

"Not a drug dealer!" Tweek said, looking up. "Fabric!"

"Fabric." Stan's eyes slid back to Craig's.

"He has connections," Craig said. "At those prices, I don't want to know how." Craig held up his plate. "Get me like four more of those sandwiches," he said.

"Can't Tweek do it?" Stan asked.

"He's knitting!" Craig said, so forcefully that Tweek shouted, his needles moving even faster. Stan grabbed the plate and hurried for the sandwiches.

The shower ended up being mostly enjoyable, possibly because Stan managed to sneak multiple sips from Kenny's flask, which was full of vodka. The food was delicious, mostly due to Liane, though Wendy's contributions weren't bad. Mr. Garrison showed up eventually. He had no date, and was toting a bottle of champagne and an unwrapped breast pump.

"I figure you're gonna get sick of having something sucking the juice out of you eventually," Garrison said as he presented the breast pump to Cartman. "Not that I'd know. Or, well, maybe I would—"

"Thanks, Mr. Garrison," Wendy said, taking the pump from Cartman as if it was a poisonous snake that she was rescuing him from.

There was a professional-looking chocolate cake made by Liane and a sunken apple pie made by Wendy, and though the cake was much better, Cartman ate three pieces of the pie. Though Stan didn't notice her taking any sips from Kenny's flask, Wendy seemed to be getting a little tipsy as the group moved toward the present table. She was hugging Cartman from behind as he selected and opened his presents, kissing his cheek and endlessly adjusting the paper crown that either she or Liane had made for him.

"Wow, thanks, Clyde!" Cartman said as he tore one open. "You actually got me something I asked for!" He held it up – it was a black baby harness with a red and orange flames on the front. "Heh," Cartman said, trying it on. "This thing is bad ass."

"Oh, Eric, that's adorable," Wendy said, stumbling a little as she turned in circles, looking for something. "Where's my phone? I want to take a picture."

"I've got the camera right here, Wends," Liane said, her tone dripping with sweetness that seemed faintly aggressive. Wendy steadied herself on Cartman's shoulders and knelt down, throwing out a peace sign as Liane snapped a picture.

Kyle sat in Stan's lap while Cartman opened presents, and Stan was distracted by the smell of Kyle's skin, feeling drunk. He watched from over Kyle's shoulder as Cartman unwrapped surprisingly nice-looking handmade baby clothes from Craig and a knit blanket from Tweek. Butters had passed his gift along with Kenny: soft little monogrammed towels with the initials KTC on them.

"It's too bad Wendy's name doesn't start with an 'F,'" Kyle said.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Cartman asked, groping for the diaper cake.

"Then your daughter's initials would be KFC," Clyde said while everyone else waited for Cartman to figure it out. "Like your favorite food," Clyde added while Cartman glared at Kyle.

"Whatever, Kyle," Cartman said. "Thanks a lot for the lame present, Jesus. I just can't wait until you and your butt buddy over there invite my Kinglet to your kid's stupid bat mitzvah. Kinglet will bring a tower of tampons for a gift, how's that?"

"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle said, standing. "My gift is thoughtful! It's got frogs!"

"Thoughtful?" Cartman scoffed. "It's like a monument to all the shit I'll be wiping off my kid's ass for the next two years! Thanks so much for the reminder. It's like the ultimate Jew gift, really, because it steals your happiness from you as soon as you look at it."

"Cartman, Jesus!" Stan said. "Don't be a dick, Kyle worked hard on that."

"Seriously, are you not getting how lucky you are to even have friends?" Kyle said. "And still all you can do is complain that they're not buying you – ah!"

"Kyle?" Stan stood and grabbed Kyle's elbows. "What's wrong? What?"

"Nothing – ah – c'mere." Kyle took Stan's hand and led him away from the circle of chairs. There were various protests and questions from the crowd, but Stan couldn't hear any of them clearly, too worried about the look that had come over Kyle's face.

"What?" Stan asked when they were standing in the middle of the empty hallway that led toward the basement stairs. "What's wr—"

Kyle took Stan's hand and brought it to his stomach, smiling. Stan realized what was happening and was afraid he was too late, or that he wouldn't be able to feel it, and he barked out a half-laugh, half-sob when he felt the kick under his palm, and then another, and another.

"She hates Cartman, too, I think," Kyle said. "Or objects to this whole tampon tower plot, or— " Stan kissed Kyle hard, his eyes watering, then dropped to his knees to kiss his belly.

"This is—" Stan said, looking up at Kyle. "It's not like Clyde's," Stan said. "It's different." It was better, stronger, and more perfect in some way that he couldn't figure out how to describe.

"She's really restless all of a sudden," Kyle said, combing his fingers through Stan's hair.

"I feel like I should say something," Stan said, still cupping Kyle's stomach as the baby's movements calmed and stopped.

"To me or her?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know," Stan said. "Kyle, um. She's really in there."

"Yeah, no kidding." Kyle was smiling again as Stan stood up, his fingers spread over the spots where he'd felt their baby moving. "You thought I was making the whole thing up to justify my weight gain?"

Stan kissed him, arching over his belly so he could reach Kyle's lips. He felt another tiny stirring as he pressed against Kyle, and he laughed into Kyle's mouth, wondering if she could feel it when they were together, when they were apart, and when they were happy or upset. He thought of what Cartman had said, something about a bat mitzvah. Elway would be thirteen, embarrassed by her parents, maybe a little awkward, nervous about dancing with boys. Stan hadn't even considered which religion they would raise her with, but he thought maybe both would be appropriate – he wanted her to have every holiday, every excuse for presents, everything.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Well, another 30 pages of this story - this one was supposed to be short? But only two more chapters and an epilogue after this. Many thanks to all who are reading!

* * *

><p>At the start of May, everything seemed to be happening at once. Shelly was due to arrive home in a week, Wendy and Kyle were up to their ears in AP exam preparation, and local businesses were putting up ads that mentioned the upcoming high school graduation. Stan was pretty sure he wasn't going to attend the Park County High ceremony, in solidarity with Kyle, who was now hugely pregnant and refusing to leave the house except to attend night school. There had been some talk in the Mommy Circle about a small ceremony just for the night school gang, and Stan was in favor of that, though also a little sad that he wouldn't be able to cross the stage in daylight, wearing a cap and gown while his parents took pictures from the crowd. Everything had been rearranged to shield them from the real world. The school had even made a special weekend AP exam schedule for Butters and Kyle.<p>

Stan had worked his way up to thirty hours a week at the pharmacy, and though it felt more like 300 hours, he was glad for the extra money. Elway's major expenses would be covered through the Broflovski's insurance, but Stan wanted to bank a little money for incidentals, so that he wouldn't have to ask his parents every time his baby needed cream for diaper rash or whatever. He was hoping that Kyle would reconcile with his mother so that getting financial help from Kyle's family would be less awkward, but after two weeks they still hadn't spoken, except through Ike, and finally through Gerald, though he claimed that Sheila didn't know about it when he showed up at the pharmacy and told Stan they needed to talk.

"Kyle is the only person I've ever met who is more stubborn than Sheila," Gerald said during Stan's lunch break. It was a nice day, a slight chill in the air but mostly springlike, the sun shining. They were sitting out back, Stan eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Gerald sipping on a Vitamin Water that he'd bought while he was waiting for Stan's break.

"I keep trying to tell Kyle that there's no way his mom gave his contact info to people who want to interview him," Stan said. He glanced over at Gerald. "Right?"

"Of course she didn't!" Gerald said, frowning. "It's a small town, and word gets around! It's not some conspiracy against him, and Kyle knows that. He was just looking for an excuse to blow up at her because she was confronting him about how irresponsible he's being."

"How's he being irresponsible?" Stan asked. "He's studying really hard for his exams, and keeping track of everything he eats, and he helps my parents with chores-"

"You're not looking at the big picture, Stan. Kyle does not have a plan. He's acting like he's just going to waltz off to college with you in August and let the chips fall where they may. He's got no idea what kind of shitstorm is going to hit once that baby is in his life. He needs counseling, parenting courses, a realistic outlook-"

"I know we can't understand what it will be like until it happens, but Kyle is really against counseling," Stan said. "I wish she'd just let it go. He's fine."

"He's not fine, he's an emotional wreck, accusing his mother of selling information about him to the newspapers! He starts crying if Ike looks at him the wrong way. It's not just the hormones."

"It's the whole situation, I guess," Stan said. "But dude, you guys need to lay off. Kyle is going to figure stuff out his own way. He doesn't like being confronted."

"This is exactly why we worry about you two," Gerald said, standing. "You coddle him, Stanley. You allow him to behave like a child, and now he's going to _have_ a child-"

"What do you want me to do?" Stan asked. "Yell at him so he runs away? Yeah, that's so much better than supporting him."

"Don't sass me, kid!" Gerald said, pointing a finger at him. "You know we could have you arrested for what you did. The statute of limitations for statutory rape hasn't run out."

"You wouldn't do that to him." Stan stood, afraid that they were about to get into a physical fight, though Gerald was pretty anti-violence in general. "I keep telling him that you guys just want what's best for him, Jesus. That – that wouldn't be best for him."

"I'm sorry, I lost my cool." Gerald sighed and sat down again. Stan remained on his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. "We wouldn't press charges against you. We just feel so disenfranchised. Our little boy - he's only seventeen and his life is over."

"He'll be eighteen in a few weeks," Stan said, as if that mattered. He sat down beside Gerald and patted his back. "And his life isn't over. I promise. I'll take care of him forever. I'll make sure he's happy."

"It's adorable and awful that you think you'll be capable of that," Gerald said, and Stan wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or not.

On the way home from work that night, Stan debated whether or not to tell Kyle about the visit from his father. When he got up to his room Kyle was asleep with his face in some notes he'd been making about U.S. history. Stan decided that dealing with the Broflovski family drama could wait until after the AP tests, which would be over in two days. He eased the pen from Kyle's hand and gently removed the notepad from beneath his cheek. Kyle moaned and curled up around his stomach. He'd been doing it a lot in the past month, when he was half-asleep, and to Stan it looked like he was trying to hold the baby.

"Stan?" Kyle said, groping for him.

"I'm here," Stan said. He sat on the bed and leaned over Kyle, kissing his ear. "Have you been studying all day?"

"Trying to," Kyle said. "I wish I could have caffeine."

"You're gonna do great," Stan said. He moved down to kiss Kyle's neck, moaning a little at the taste of him. He'd been beating off in the shower all week, waiting for Kyle to consent to sex. Kyle's plan was to abstain until after the exams, but Stan thought a little orgasmic release might be good for his stress levels.

"Mhm," Kyle said, lifting his shoulder and frowning, his eyes still closed. "That tickles."

"Come downstairs and eat something," Stan said.

"Fuck that," Kyle said. "The stairs hurt my ankles. And your dad looks at me like he can't believe how enormous I am."

"He does not," Stan said, though he'd noticed this, too.

"Your sister's eyes are going to pop out of her head as soon as she walks through that door."

"Shelly's got her own stuff going on," Stan said. "She usually hides in her room all summer."

"She's going to hate us for turning it into a nursery," Kyle said. He shifted until he was halfway onto his back, staring up at Stan.

"She'll be living in some apartment by then," Stan said. "She won't care."

"Dude, I'm due in July. She's just graduated from college. You really think she's going to be all set up and gainfully employed in three months?"

"I can't believe the baby will be here in three months," Stan said, leaning down to kiss Kyle's stomach. "Um, and college in four," he said, thinking of his conversation with Gerald. "For you, anyway."

"Don't start with that shit," Kyle said. "You're coming with me. You're not going to work in a pharmacy for the rest of your life."

"And who's gonna take care of Elway while we're in class?" Stan asked. "My parents work, dude. Your dad, too, and we're gonna need every cent they can spare to help us. And you won't talk to your mom."

"Stop, just stop," Kyle said, draping his arm across his eyes. "I can't think about any of this until after exams."

It seemed like everything was being deferred until after the AP tests, and Stan was ready for them to be over just so he would be able to stop hearing about them, though he supposed Kyle's college course work would soon take their place. Stan was determined to work for a year before he decided what to do about the whole college thing. He wanted to at least save up enough money to cover his classes. Kyle had actually qualified for one of the special needs scholarships he'd applied for, after an embarrassing visit from an insurance company doctor who assured the foundation that Kyle was indeed one of the infamous pregnant South Park boys. The hassle was worth it, because Kyle's freshman year would be completely paid for, but Stan couldn't exactly apply for special needs scholarships for impregnators.

On their last day of class before the tests, Token joined the study group out in the hall. He'd been going over the material with them for a week, and Clyde had been more aloof than ever without Token at his side. He seemed to be zoning out most of the time, absently rubbing his stomach while Cartman and Garrison bickered about politics or Craig peddled the baby clothes that he'd been making ever since Wendy and Liane cooed over the little outfit he'd made for Kinglet.

"Have you decided what to name your baby?" Stan asked Clyde at dinner. Kyle and the others were still out in the hall, eating out of their laps.

"Something Dutch, I think," Clyde said. "But not too Dutch."

"How about you?" Stan asked Henrietta. She was eight months along and seemed perpetually uncomfortable, always adjusting her skirt or her bra straps.

"I don't know," she said. "Something that makes you think 'demon hunter.' Like, dangerous but wise."

"You want people to think of demon hunters when they hear your baby's name?" Clyde said.

"No," Henrietta said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I want him to hear his name and think, 'I should hunt demons.'"

"Um," Stan said when Clyde and Henrietta stared at each other, Clyde looking vaguely upset. "We haven't decided on a name yet. Kyle thinks it's bad luck to talk about names, so we just have a milk name."

"A milk name?" Henrietta said.

"Yeah, like a decoy. It's an old, superstitious thing."

Kenny returned from the hallway, where he'd gone to visit Butters and bring him his dinner. Stan waved him over.

"Where's your dinner?" Stan asked when Kenny sat down beside him.

"Didn't have time," Kenny said. He rested his head on the table, yawning. "I'm picking up extra shifts at the gas station," he said. "Making some good money."

"Cool," Stan said. "Have some Pringles. We're talking about baby names."

"Names," Kenny said. He seemed delirious. He lifted his head and took a few of Stan's chips, looking thoughtful as he chewed them up. "I wanna name her after Butters," Kenny said. "Leonora or something."

"Ugh," Clyde said.

"Yeah, that's awful," Stan said. "Butters doesn't even like his own name."

"That's true," Kenny said, crunching chips. "So he veto'd that. He says he has a name picked out and he wants to surprise me."

"I bet it's like, Cream Puff or something," Henrietta said, and Clyde laughed. Kenny gave Henrietta an angry stare.

"Don't fucking underestimate Butters," he said. "Just because someone doesn't go around wearing black and frowning to prove that they're all _hardcore_ doesn't mean they don't have depth."

"I'm sure he'll pick out a really cute name," Stan said, hoping to diffuse the tension.

"Butters is going to be a great father," Kenny said, and then he looked like he might cry. It passed quickly, and he ate more of Stan's chips.

After class, Kyle was antsy, babbling about how he only wanted to sleep for five hours so he could get up and study more before his exams. Stan was yawning, thinking about what Henrietta had said about her baby being a demon hunter. She'd seemed weirdly serious, even for her.

Jimbo's truck was parked outside when they got to the house. Stan usually liked visits from his uncle, but Jimbo hadn't seen Kyle since before he'd gotten pregnant, and Stan wasn't in the mood for a scene. Kyle lingered in the passenger seat and scowled at the truck.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked. "Is that your uncle's?"

"Uh-huh. Dude, um. It's no big deal. We can just slip upstairs. He's probably out back getting drunk with my dad, anyway." Stan kind of wished he could join them.

"Why would they have company over on the night before my exams?" Kyle asked. "I've been talking about this all week. Do they not listen when I talk? Sometimes it seems like they don't."

"Jimbo comes over unannounced all the time," Stan said. "I'm sure they listen to you, dude."

"I'm not. Your mom keeps asking me when I'm having my next ultrasound. How many times do I have to tell her? May 26! Happy fucking eighteenth birthday to me! How can she forget something so goddamn macabre?"

"C'mon," Stan said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Let's go in, you need some rest."

"Don't tell me what I need." Kyle still had his seat belt on, and he had both hands over his stomach, which was his habit when he was feeling particularly self conscious about the size of it. "God, this is a nightmare. I'm sure his little twink boyfriend is in there, too."

"Who, Ned? He's not a twink."

"And they're just - closeted, that's so selfish! When he could have been a source of support for you. Considering how Randy is. God, I bet they're all going to laugh as soon as my back is turned. I know your dad's been dying to laugh about this with someone."

"He has not." Stan tried to rub Kyle's neck, but he leaned away. "Dude, that's his granddaughter in there. He wouldn't laugh about her. He might be clueless, but he's not cruel."

Kyle got out of the car, grumbling, his shoulders raised defensively as they headed toward the house. Stan could hear the distinct volume of Jimbo's voice as they approached the door, and then the jarring sound of Ned's voicebox.

"You'll have to make my excuses for me," Kyle said. "I'm bolting for the stairs. I don't have the time or the energy to be social."

"It's fine, dude. You're family, they're family. You don't have to be all polite and shit."

"That's so easy for you to say! We're on your turf. God, I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Stan said, and he opened the door, ready to get this over with. Kyle walked in behind him, cowering like Stan was his shield, though Stan wasn't really wide enough to properly conceal him. Everyone was in the living room: Stan's parents, Jimbo, Ned, and their friend Skeeter, which Stan hadn't expected. He met his mother's eyes angrily, and she gave him a helpless expression, silently communicating that she had _tried_ to get rid of them.

"Hey, there's my little nephew!" Jimbo said, standing from the couch. Stan was fully in support of Kyle's plan to dart for the stairs, but he wasn't doing it, maybe because he was afraid that would be more conspicuous. "And the newest member of the family!" Jimbo said, leaning down to hug Kyle after he'd embraced Stan. "The two newest members, I should say." Jimbo leaned back with his hands on his hips, staring at Kyle's stomach.

"Kyle's really tired," Stan said. "We're just-"

"I'll be damned," Skeeter said, craning his neck to get a better look. "I seen the Cartman kid a few days back, but he just looked like he'd gotten fatter. That's something else, I tell you what."

"Why don't you guys go out back?" Sharon said tightly. "It's a nice night."

"Congratulations, Stan," Ned said, his robot voice making the sentiment and the moment seem extra ridiculous.

"When's she due?" Jimbo asked, reaching for Kyle's stomach. Stan watched helplessly as Jimbo laid his hand on it. Stan felt like he should do something, but he couldn't slap his uncle's hand away; he was just being friendly. Kyle was silent, his shoulders slumped.

"July 24th," Stan said. "We should really get upstairs, Kyle's got-"

"It'll be a C-section," Randy announced, loudly. "It's not like, you know. There's nothing to push it out of."

"Randy," Sharon said. "Take the guys outside, the boys are tired."

"Well, I think it's great that you boys are keeping it," Jimbo said. He was a firmly established pro-lifer. "I remember Stanley here playing with his stuffed animals as a little tot, tucking them into bed and feeding them plastic food and so forth. I was worried Randy and Sharon were turning him into a sissy, naturally-"

"Jimbo!" Sharon said, and everyone turned to her. "Please, the kids are exhausted. They've got tests tomorrow."

"Tests?" Jimbo turned back to Stan and frowned. "What sort of tests?"

"School tests," Stan said, leading Kyle toward the stairs. "I'll come back down in a minute, I just have to-"

"School?" Jimbo said. "What do you need school for? I thought they were raising the kid themselves?" He looked to Randy for conformation.

"Well, yeah," Randy said. "But they're still going to go to college."

"How the hell's that going to work?" Jimbo asked.

"College, shit," Skeeter said. "That's just a waste 'a money these days, I heard. Unless you want to be a doctor or somethin'."

"Kyle does want to be a doctor," Stan said, pulling him up the stairs. He wasn't sure why Kyle was moving so sluggishly, because he clearly wasn't enjoying this, his face red and his eyes cast down. It was like he'd gone into petrified prey mode. "We're going upstairs."

"I'll bring a snack up in a minute," Sharon said, sounding apologetic.

"You come back down after you get him all situated," Jimbo called as they made their way up. "I been wanting to visit with you, Stan!"

Upstairs, Stan braced himself for the explosion. Kyle was silent as they walked down the hall, and he said nothing when Stan shut the bedroom door. Stan lingered near the door as he watched Kyle toe off his shoes and climb into bed, lying down on his side, his back to Stan.

"Dude, I'm so sorry," Stan said. "That was - the worst, God. You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

Kyle said nothing. Stan sighed, trying to show Kyle that he was sincerely upset about this, too. He went to the bed and sat down beside Kyle, leaning over to peek at his face. Kyle was pale and expressionless, his bottom lip trembling.

"Kyle," Stan said, softly, threading his fingers through Kyle's curls. "Don't be sad. Those guys are idiots. They're hicks."

"He said she," Kyle said. He sounded broken, like he'd been punched. "He said, 'when is she due?'"

"He meant she as in _Elway_," Stan said. "Not you." He leaned down and pressed his face to Kyle's cheek.

"I'm not a man anymore, am I?" Kyle said.

"Of course you're a man," Stan said, reaching down to cup Kyle's cock.

"No," Kyle said. "Not completely. Not the way they are, or the way you are."

"That's insane," Stan said. "You're the one who's always lecturing Cartman about his gender bias shit. Or whatever. Like, there's a lot of different ways people can be men. Right? And remember, you're not alone. Those other guys are going through this, too. Do you look at Clyde and think 'he's not a man?'"

"Yes. All the time."

Stan snorted and hugged Kyle to him, kissing his face. "Now you're just being mean."

"I have milk-filled tits, Stan!" Kyle said, turning to glare at him, tears glittering between his eyelashes. "I keep thinking about - what if I'm _breastfeeding_ and my father sees? Or Ike? What will they think?

"Dude," Stan said. His eyes were wet, too, because this wasn't just a mood swing. Kyle was deeply upset; Stan could feel it like a film that had coated him. "They - nobody has to see that. If you don't want."

"I'm this sick thing that needs to be hidden," Kyle said. He moaned and covered his face with his fist, crying. "Shit, I thought I was past this," he said while Stan held him and kissed him, whispering that he was perfect, beautiful, so perfect. "But it's never going to end. People are going to look at our kid and call her a butt baby."

"No," Stan said. "They won't, 'cause I'll kill anyone who even thinks that. And you know what? She'll have four really close friends, because they'll all have the same - origins. They'll protect each other."

"You can't protect someone from this kind of shame," Kyle said. "You try to protect me, but you can't. Everyone knows, Stan. Everyone knows I like dick so much that I immaculately conceived when you came in me."

"Shh, stop," Stan said, whispering. "You said so yourself, okay - Jimbo and Ned? Everybody talks about them liking dick. Apparently. And they just go on with their lives."

"It's not the same! They don't have floating wombs."

"Dude, they probably wish they did. You see how Jimbo is with me, talking about when I played with stuffed animals. They're lonely, even together. Me and you are lucky, okay? I know it's hard now, because of college and everything, but when we're their age we're gonna be so glad we have Elway." Stan was sobbing before he knew what was happening. He truly believed what he was saying, and it hurt. Kyle moaned and sat up, cradling Stan against his chest.

"It's okay," Kyle said, stroking Stan's hair. His voice had gotten steady, as if Stan had taken the crying baton from him and was running off with it. "It's okay, Stan, shhh. They'll hear you."

"I don't care. Fuck them."

"No, no. What you were saying - it's sweet, almost. Jimbo's not a bad person. Ned, either. That other fuck, I don't know who he is."

"Yes, you do." Stan sniffled and lifted his face. "That's Skeeter, the guy who works at the liquor store."

"Oh, of course. Why is he in your house?"

"I don't know, dude. I don't know what the fuck's happening." Stan cried into Kyle's chest until Sharon appeared with milk and cookies. She set them on Stan's desk and joined them on the bed, crying a little herself, her arms around both of them.

"Everything's going to be just fine," she promised, her voice shaking as she pet Stan's head, then Kyle's. "You two are so brave. My brave little troopers."

"I want my mom," Kyle said, and he burst into tears.

Despite this, Kyle didn't call her that night. He was worn out, and in the morning, when he woke up later than planned, his eyelids were still a little bloated. Stan drove him to his AP test session, picking up Butters on the way there. Butters' mother walked him out to the car.

"Good luck, boys," she said as Butters climbed into the back. "Do your best. You'll be able to put all of this behind you soon."

"All of what?" Kyle asked. He was in a foul mood, overtired and anxious.

"I think you know what I mean," Mrs. Stotch said.

"We'd better go," Stan said, wishing she would get her face out of his window.

"We're keeping our baby," Kyle announced when she lingered.

"Oh," she said. "Yes, I suppose I knew that. Well, as I said. Good luck."

"Sorry about that," Butters said as Stan backed out of the driveway. "But I'm real happy to hear you say that you're keeping your baby, Kyle!"

"I've _been_ saying it," Kyle said, though he hadn't, not explicitly. Stan reached over to squeeze his hand.

"How about some ice cream after this?" he said. "My treat."

"That'd be swell, Stan," Butters said. "Oh - unless you didn't mean to include me."

"Of course I did," Stan said, though he hadn't. "You and Kenny are family, dude. Is he working today?"

"Yep," Butters said. He sat back and looked out the window, tugging on his seat belt. "Gosh," he said, softly, almost to himself. "I sure miss him when he's not around."

At school, Stan fell asleep in a chair outside the room where Butters and Kyle were taking their test. It was a Saturday, and he would have to work later. He kept dreaming that he was falling over and jerking awake, frightened for a few seconds when he found himself in the empty school.

"Stan?" someone said at one point, and he blinked awake to see Heidi and Red standing before him. Confused in the lingering haze of sleep, he wondered why they weren't in their cheerleading uniforms.

"What's up?" he said.

"I haven't seen you in forever," Heidi said. "You look - awful. Poor thing."

"What are you guys even doing here?" Stan asked, annoyed.

"We're on yearbook staff," Red said. "Just doing some last minute work. We never got your order, you know."

"Yearbooks are like sixty bucks," Stan said. "Me and Kyle are going to share one."

Red and Heidi glanced at each other as if this was worrisome, or embarrassing.

"Where is Kyle?" Heidi asked.

"Taking his AP exams," Stan said. "Don't worry about it."

"Why are you all defensive?" Red asked. "We're not asking to see pictures of his stomach or anything."

"Just get out of here," Stan said. "You - children."

They gaped at him for a moment before walking off, and Stan could hear them laughing hysterically from the other end of the hall. He was irritable by the time Kyle and Butters finished with the day's tests, because he'd become a cantankerous old man who fell asleep in hallways and barked at teenagers. Kyle and Butters hardly acknowledged him as they walked to the car, exchanging opinions about the content of the tests.

"I thought we were stopping for ice cream?" Kyle said when Stan zoned out and drove past the Zesto. He did a u-turn, and Kyle stared at him expectantly. "Something wrong?" he asked when Stan said nothing.

"Nope," Stan said. "Just – I've got work in a hour.

"We're not going to take an hour to eat ice cream," Kyle said.

"I can be real quick," Butters said, and Stan thought he must have said that to Kenny a thousand times, or maybe it was the other way around.

"It's fine," Stan said. "I'm not worried about the time, I'm just saying. I have to work until eleven. It sucks." He felt bad for saying so, because he didn't want Kyle to feel guilty, but a petty little part of him resented that Kyle was going to go home, nap, snack, and relax on the couch.

"Well, if you'd just apply for loans," Kyle said, muttering. "You could forget about this dehumanizing stab at a career in customer service."

"It's not dehumanizing," Stan said. "It's real life, it's what people do. What's the point of going into massive debt just to get a music degree?" He didn't want to talk about this again, especially in front of Butters, but Kyle's obsession with higher education was really beginning to grate.

"You wouldn't have to get a music degree necessarily," Kyle said. "You could still play, and take music courses, but you could get a degree in, I don't know. Something else you're interested in."

"You know I'm not interested in anything else," Stan said, which wasn't strictly true – he just didn't have any financially profitable interests. "You want me to be an accountant or something? Fine, but I'll get a degree after you finish medical school."

"Are you crazy?" Kyle sat up straighter, clutching at his stomach as if to shield the baby from this argument. "We both know that if you don't go now, you're never going to go. Isn't that right?" Kyle said, turning to Butters, who flinched.

"Well, gee, fellas-" He was rubbing his fists together, probably regretting agreeing to get ice cream with them. "Ah – I think school's important, but Kenny's not gonna go, and that's okay with me."

"It shouldn't be," Kyle said sharply.

"Dude," Stan said. "Don't make Butters feel bad."

"God, this whole thing," Kyle said, glowering at the windshield. "It's like the blind leading the blind. And we're all going over a goddamn cliff."

"Hey, stop," Stan said.

"It's not all that bad, Kyle," Butters said. "If we pass all our AP exams we'll have a head start on our college courses, and, um. At least you guys have parents who want your baby, too."

Stan let that rest on top of Kyle's head, glancing over at him. Kyle had closed his eyes.

"Let's not talk about our parents," he said.

"Last night you said-" Stan started to say, but he stopped when Kyle cut his eyes over to him angrily.

"I know what I said. And I'm glad, okay, that my parents have insurance. But I think it's pretty clear that if I don't do what they say, they want nothing to do with me."

"That's not true at all," Stan said. "Your, uh. Your dad came to see me at work yesterday."

"What?" Kyle grabbed Stan's arm. "When were you going to tell me?"

"After your tests, I guess."

"Well, what the hell did he want?"

"For you to talk to your mom," Stan said. Kyle scoffed.

"She can come talk to me whenever she's ready to apologize."

"Dude, I really don't think she gave your contact information to anyone."

"Whether she did or not, she called me a slut."

"Oh, gosh," Butters said, bringing his hand to his lips. "My dad said that to me, too, when we found out why I was feeling sick."

"No way did Sheila call you a slut," Stan said. He was getting legitimately angry. Kyle was being very insensitive to Butters, who had real problems.

"Maybe she didn't use that word exactly," Kyle said. "But she implied it. She said that this is what happens to people who put their physical needs before all others. Sluts, in other words."

"It was just the heat of the moment," Stan said. "I'm sure you said some things you didn't mean, too."

"No, I meant all of them," Kyle said, and Stan rolled his eyes.

Eating ice cream with the two of them was a somber affair, and Stan could barely taste his sundae. It made him remember being ten years old and so disenchanted with life that everything tasted like cardboard crap. Reliably, any recollection of that feeling made him want a drink.

"Is Kenny working at the gas station?" Stan asked Butters.

"Yep," Butters said. "A double shift. I wish I could get a job, too, but my parents won't let me."

"What are you going to do if they don't change their minds about letting you keep the baby?" Kyle asked, and Stan let his spoon clatter loudly against his bowl. "What?" Kyle said when Stan stared at him in disbelief. "Nobody's helping him by letting him avoid the subject."

"You sound like your mom," Stan said.

"Well, maybe she's not wrong about everything!"

"You should tell her that." Stan looked over at Butters, who was stirring the melted ice cream at the bottom of his bowl. "Hey," he said, touching Butters' wrist. "I need to fill up my car before work. You want to go visit Kenny?"

"Yeah!" Butters brightened instantly, beaming at Stan. "That'd be just great! I just have to make sure nobody who talks to my folks sees me there. I'm not allowed to see Kenny."

"Don't they know that you see him at night school?" Kyle asked.

"No," Butters said. "I, um, told them that Kenny dropped out of school and doesn't want nothing to do with me anymore. They believed me." Butters sighed and set his spoon down. "I don't like telling them lies about him like that, but it's the only way we can see each other, for now."

They drove to the gas station, and Stan loaned Butters a Broncos cap that he had in the backseat of the car. He filled up the car while he watched Butters sneaking in to the gas station, wearing the cap, and grinned to himself when he saw Kenny look up and smile at the sight of him. Butters pointed to Stan, and Kenny waved as he brought Butters back behind the counter. They ducked out of sight, and Stan turned to see Kyle climbing out of the car.

"Want anything from the store?" Stan asked. "Some juice or something?"

"Don't waste your money," Kyle said, walking around the car. "We have juice at the house." He took Stan's arm and leaned against him while the tank filled, his chin resting on Stan's shoulder. "I'm sorry for nagging you," Kyle said. "I know I sound like her."

"You don't really," Stan said, though Kyle was Sheila exactly when he got started about the college thing. "And it's okay." He gave Kyle a kiss at the corner of his lips, surprised that he was willing to leave the car and expose himself to curious onlookers, though there were no other cars at the gas station at the moment. "I'm just glad your AP tests are halfway over."

"You're gonna hate me so much," Kyle said, his grip tightening on Stan's' arm.

"Huh? Dude, what are you talking about?" Stan stroked Kyle cheek and tipped his face up so that their eyes met. "Hate you for what?"

"Going to college," Kyle said. "If you're determined to work some job – you'll hate me. I've ruined your life, Stan."

"You have not." Stan glanced at the convenience store; Kenny and Butters were still below the window line. He hoped they weren't dumb enough to try to fuck behind the counter. "Leaving me is the only way you could ruin my life."

"I don't like watching you sacrifice for me," Kyle said, his eyes big.

"Yeah, you do," Stan said. "Because you know why I do it."

Kyle stared at him, looking worried. Stan reached down to touch Kyle's belly, cupping his hand around the underside.

"How can you love me?" Kyle asked.

"Dude," Stan said, sighing. He put his forehead against Kyle's and looked down into his eyes, not sure that he could verbally reassure him.

"I'm not like Butters," Kyle said. "I'm not sweet. I'm gonna be a mean, judgmental parent like my mother. You know it."

"Maybe you'll be judgmental sometimes, and maybe I'll be a reactionary idiot like my dad is sometimes. But I'll teach Elway how to read music, like my dad did with me, if she wants me to. And you'll call her bubbeh and help her with her school projects like your mom does for you. It'll be okay. We're not going over a cliff."

"I will not call her bubbeh," Kyle said, but he was smiling, and he let Stan kiss him.

Butters returned five minutes later, when Stan and Kyle were back inside the car, listening to the radio while Kyle talked about the AP tests. Kenny was watching from the store window as Butters headed toward the car. They waved at each other when Butters reached the car, and Stan wanted to go inside and fetch Kenny, because he seemed so sad and far away, like he was watching them from another world. It was especially depressing because Stan would be reentering that other world himself in just twenty minutes, manning a counter below florescent lights, making change and handing over receipts.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here," Butters said. "You don't know how much it helps. Just to see him, a-and kiss him a little." He was flushed, breathless, and he leaned into the front seat to kiss Stan on the cheek as he pulled the car out onto the road. Kyle frowned. "That's from Kenny," Butters said. He turned to kiss Kyle on the nose. "That is, too," he said, grinning.

Stan dropped Butters off and brought Kyle back to his house, where he only had time to change into work appropriate pants before he had to leave for his shift.

"You look tired," Kyle said. He was sitting on Stan's bed, watching him lace his boots.

"I'm okay," Stan said. "I'll be back in eight hours. Are you gonna study for tomorrow?"

"Yeah – God." Kyle fidgeted on the bed, twisting his hands together. "Eight hours?"

"Yep, pharmacy closes at 11 on Saturdays. After graduation I'm gonna go apply at that twenty-four hour one near the highway. I bet they have night shifts I could pick up."

"What do we need all this money for?" Kyle asked. He touched his belly and scoffed when Stan just raised his eyebrows. "I mean, I know, but. Your parents-"

"I don't want to rely on them for everything," Stan said. "Dude, can we not do this now? I gotta go, I'll be late."

Kyle said nothing, and Stan kissed him goodbye, deepening it enough to make him think of sex. He hoped Kyle was thinking of it, too, and guessed that he was when Stan pulled back to give him a heavy-lidded grin. Kyle was blushing.

"Tomorrow, after my exam," Kyle said, "To celebrate, um. I want you to take me into the boy's locker room and fuck me in the showers."

"Jesus," Stan said. "That sounds like porn."

"Really fucked up porn where the bottom is seven months pregnant," Kyle said. "But, yes. That's what I want. Then I'll have closure."

"Closure? For what?"

"I don't know – high school. Will you do it?"

Stan said he would, and was unable to think of anything else for the next eight hours. At one point he realized he was fantasizing about fucking the Kyle of seven months ago, slim and limber, his legs wound around Stan's waist as Stan rammed into him, Kyle's hands scrambling for traction on the wet tiles. It wouldn't be like that: Kyle would be huge, nervous, and exposed. Stan would only be able to fuck him in tiny nudges of his hips, afraid that he'd slip or that the baby would get jostled. They hadn't had sex above the blankets in months, and Kyle never took his shirt off for Stan anymore. As the hours of his shift dragged on, Stan began to dread this locker room sex plan. Kyle wouldn't be eighteen for another two weeks; if they got caught, Stan was still breaking the law, and the school wouldn't hesitate to press charges.

After clocking out, Stan swiped someone's Diet Coke from the fridge in the break room, and he drank it while he drove home. He didn't even like diet soda and felt bad about the theft, but he needed something to keep him awake, and was tired of spending money on snacks while he was there trying to goddamn earn it.

Stan's parents were in Illinois with Shelly, and the house was silent and dark when Stan let himself in. Tomorrow his family would return with all of Shelly's belongings, and the house would feel more crowded than it already did. Shelly's college graduation had happened earlier that day, and Stan would have liked to go just for the excuse to take a weekend trip to Chicago, but Kyle couldn't be spotted in an unfamiliar city where people would stare, and Stan couldn't leave him alone. He walked into the bedroom expecting to find Kyle asleep, and snapped on his desk lamp when he saw Kyle sitting up in bed, the blankets pulled up over his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Stan asked. He went to Kyle and moaned when he felt that he was trembling. "What's the matter?" Stan asked again, hugging him.

"Nothing," Kyle said. He clung to Stan and hid his face against Stan's neck, his breath fast and hot on Stan's skin. "I just had a bad dream. Then I woke up, and I was alone – the house is so quiet."

"Dude, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Jesus. It's not your fault. It's just, that dream." Kyle made a soft, whimpery noise and held Stan tighter.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stan asked. Kyle shook his head.

"It was about, you know. The baby."

Stan put his hand over Kyle's stomach and smiled when he felt a little punch against his palm. Elway had become a restless sleeper, and it wasn't unusual for Kyle to wake up and pull Stan's hand against his stomach to get her to stop moving.

"She's fine," Stan said. "You're fine. I'm – here, everything's fine, dude. You're shaking, Kyle, God."

"She woke up, too," Kyle said. He put his hand over Stan's. "It was weird, you know. To be here in this empty house, no noises from another room or anything. Just me and her. I talked to her, like a lunatic."

"What did you say?" Stan asked, wishing he could have heard that.

"Nothing, I don't know," Kyle mumbled. "Um, how was work?"

"Boring. Did my parents call?"

"Yeah, they called to check on me. Your mom said they'll be home around dinnertime tomorrow. Do you think it will be terrible, sharing a bathroom with your sister?"

"No worse than sharing it with Ike, I guess," Stan said. "Did you call your mom?"

"What?" Kyle frowned. "No. Why would I call her?"

"Uh, 'cause you were scared, and you were here alone."

"Please," Kyle said. He dropped to the pillow and curled up. "I'd call Butters before I called her."

"Why Butters?"

"I don't know. He's more motherly than anyone I know."

Stan got undressed and climbed into bed. Kyle was quickly asleep with his head on Stan's chest, and Elway was, too, motionless under Stan's hand. He thought Kyle was really more motherly than Butters. The last two times Butters had cried in their presence, Kyle had pet him and calmed him down. When Kyle flipped out, Butters tended to shrink away and rub his fists together.

"You're gonna be a good mother," Stan said, and he was glad that Kyle was sleeping and didn't hear that, because he would probably take 'mother' the wrong way. Kyle would be a good father, too, but there was something motherish about him that Stan was glad Elway would have.

In the morning, Stan drove Kyle and Butters to their test session, and he was starting to doze off in the same chair that he'd fallen asleep in the day before when he heard someone coming down the hall. He hoped it wouldn't be more yearbook staff members, especially not the ones he'd snapped at the day before. He grinned and stood when he saw that it was Kenny, carrying a big bouquet of gerber daises and roses in loud colors.

"Damn, now I have to go out and buy some," Stan said.

"Kyle doesn't seem like a cut flowers kind of guy," Kenny said.

"He's not, but I can't not have a present for him if you've got one for Butters."

"There's a bunch of tulips growing out by the entrance to the main parking lot," Kenny said. He elbowed Stan. "And I know you're giving Kyle another present that he'll cherish even more."

"I am?" Stan said, feeling panicked.

"Um, yeah. Sex, right? That's half the reason I'm here. Seeing Butters yesterday at work was like – man. I feel like I've had a boner for twenty hours."

Kenny laughed when Stan glanced down at his crotch, and Stan shoved him.

"So those two are discussing their plans to get us to have sex with them in the school?" Stan said, surprised.

"They're not as innocent as they look," Kenny said. "Though I guess they don't look all that innocent now that they're, you know. Visibly with child. Better go get those tulips."

Stan did, and added some wildflowers that were growing near the little creek that ran alongside the school lot. Kenny lent him some of the ribbon from his professionally constructed bouquet to bind it all together.

"Isn't your sister coming home today?" Kenny asked while they waited for Butters and Kyle to emerge.

"Yeah," Stan said. "They're driving back from Chicago with all her stuff right now."

"That'll be weird," Kenny said. Stan nodded. He hadn't talked to Shelly much during her time in college, even when she'd been home for the summer. He had reread her text message about the flower and the ladybug a lot, but he got the feeling that the fact that they'd had a precious moment via text message would make things even more awkward between them in person.

"What do Kevin and Karen say about the pregnancy thing?" Stan asked.

"Kevin doesn't give a shit," Kenny said. "And Karen mostly asks when she can see Butters. My mom, too. They really want to be a part of this, you know, they're kinda excited. My mom made a quilt." Kenny looked down at the flower bouquet, fussing with one of the rose petals.

"It'll work out," Stan said, though he wasn't sure it would.

"Right," Kenny said. "And if it doesn't, I'll still take care of him and our girl."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. Kenny shook his head.

"Look, here they come," he said. "We've got dibs on the bleachers in the basketball court."

"Oh, Jesus," Stan said. "Be careful."

Kyle emerged looking euphoric, and he gave Stan a hug, his thigh lifting a bit as he hung on. Stan hadn't been inside him in over a week, and he was a little hard just from the contact, smiling tightly at the test administrator as she left the classroom.

"These are so pretty!" Butters said, burying his nose in the flowers Kenny had brought.

"When did you have time to get flowers?" Kyle asked. He was grinning, sniffing at the bright red tulips.

"Just picked them up while you were in there," Stan said.

"And I thought to myself, what a good idea!" Kenny said. Stan saw him wink at Butters.

"Well," Kyle said, craning his neck to watch the administrator leave through the front doors of the school. "That's done, finally. I think I passed all of mine. How about you, Butters?"

"I think so," Butters said. "Fingers crossed!"

"So." Kyle cleared his throat and sniffed at the flowers again. "Um, we're gonna take a stroll around the school, for nostalgic purposes, if you guys want to meet back here in about thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes, whoa!" Kenny said, smirking. "That's some hardcore nostalgia."

"Well, it's – our childhood and stuff," Kyle said, slightly flustered. "I know we'll be back for class, but with Garrison around it's hard to be sentimental."

"Kenny knows about the plan, Kyle," Butters said, patting Kenny's chest. "It's okay. Ya'll have fun in the locker room."

"Oh, Jesus," Stan said. He took Kyle's hand and pulled him away while Kenny snickered. "See you in half an hour."

"Half an hour, Stanley, I'm so impressed!" Kenny shouted, and Stan flipped him off without looking back.

"Butters is such a little bitch sometimes!" Kyle said, squeezing Stan's hand as they walked away. "He didn't have to tell Kenny about – the plan."

"Dude, Kenny would have guessed anyway," Stan said. "And I think they're like us. They tell each other everything."

"I really do like my flowers," Kyle said, pressing against Stan as they walked. "And I think you're gonna like – this."

"Oh, yeah, totally," Stan said, though he was more nervous about it than excited. He wasn't big on public sex. That was more Kyle's thing, flaunting what they had and showing off, and Stan liked that Kyle liked that. It was hot that he wanted everyone to know, but Stan preferred the privacy of their bedrooms, and the warm, secret little world that they made together under the blankets. He'd never felt quite right in a bed without Kyle, even as a little kid, and the whole concept of going to bed together wasn't just sexual but sacred, because that was where they were finally left alone to whisper and hide.

"Okay, um," Kyle said as they approached the locker room. "Could we do a little game sort of thing?"

"A game?" Stan envisioned Kyle running around the locker room, expecting to be chased. No way could they do that with Elway along for the ride.

"A role play thing," Kyle said. He was flushed, his palm growing sweaty against Stan's. "Like we're on the team together?"

"Oh – okay." Stan opened the locker room door and held it for Kyle. It was absurd, the idea of someone in his condition playing football, but Stan was so desperate to put his dick in Kyle's ass that he would have agreed to role play as prairie dogs if that was what Kyle wanted.

"I always wanted to be on the team with you," Kyle said, walking backward as they neared the showers. "Did you know that?"

"I don't think you would have liked it," Stan said. "You hate running."

"I didn't want to do it physically," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you know, I wanted the emotional experience of being part of your victories. So here's what I thinking." He pushed down his sweatpants, which were actually Stan's, a dingy navy pair that were basically the only thing Kyle wore as pants anymore. "I'm the kicker, okay, and I messed up. And you're the quarterback, and we have a deal that when I mess up, you can have my ass."

"Oh, Jesus." Stan was already getting hard, tearing at his jeans. Kyle grinned and walked into the shower area, kicking his shoes away along with his pants. "Want me to turn the water on?" Stan asked as Kyle shimmied out of his boxers – also Stan's, the elastic in the waistband completely destroyed by the shape of Kyle's belly.

"Well," Kyle said, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. It was a long-sleeved freebie from a blood drive that had once belonged to Stan's mother. Kyle had gotten attached to it for some reason. "That's part of the fantasy, yeah. Having the water on. Um, but it might kill your erection."

"No, it won't," Stan said, touching himself already as he stepped out of his underwear. "I love that feeling, you know, hot water-"

"I meant me," Kyle said, pressing his back to the tiles. "Without a shirt. There's – rolls, Stan."

"I've felt them, dude," Stan said. He walked to Kyle, pulling off his socks, the tiles cold under his bare feet. "I love the way you feel, the way you look—"

"You're just saying that—"

"No, dude, like, here. Feel." Stan took Kyle's hand and brought it to his erection, reaching up under Kyle's shirt with his other hand. Kyle moaned and grasped Stan's cock as his hand traveled up over the baby bump, and he whimpered when Stan squeezed his little tits. "I don't want to role play, really," Stan admitted. "I want you."

"I was hoping you'd spank me or something," Kyle said. "But then I thought, that might scare the baby. It's so unfair. I want my body back. Will you spank me someday, though? In the future?"

"I'll spank the shit out of you," Stan said, trying to make this sound sexy. Kyle laughed and chewed on his lip.

"Turn the water on," he said. "I'll - I'll take the shirt off."

Stan turned three of the showers on full blast, so that the room would fill with steam. He and Kyle had always had a thing for showering together, despite the memory of being caught by Randy that one time, and it would be nice to do it in a place where they wouldn't be so cramped. He turned to Kyle and tried not to stare. Kyle was clearly self conscious, holding his elbows, his shoulders lifted. He looked - weird, it was true, stretch marks spidering around his heavy stomach, his chest saggy and soft. It wasn't the body Stan had been fantasizing about for most of his life, but he knew he wouldn't have trouble maintaining an erection. Kyle looked like this because he was carrying Stan's baby, and any alteration to Kyle's body that was caused by Stan's dick gave Stan a perverse, animal pride that made him want to mark Kyle all over. It also helped that Kyle looked scared, in need of protection and reassurance, which was something Stan had always gotten off on giving him.

"Dude," Stan said when they stood together under the water, Kyle's curls already damp and frizzy from the steam. "I need this so much."

"Yeah," Kyle said, absently, staring at Stan's lips. "Can you just role play a little?" he asked, just before Stan's mouth could close over his. "You don't have to do the football thing, or the spanking, but, um. Maybe you could call me a bad boy, or. Something?"

"I'm not good at that stuff," Stan said. "It's gonna sound stupid."

"Dude, you write songs! With lyrics! You can handle this."

"You don't usually like my lyrics."

"What! Yes, I do!"

"You only ever ask me to play the instrumental stuff," Stan said, and he groaned, because arguing about this was the opposite of sex. "Okay, um. You've been bad, Kyle. You're dirty. Go face that wall and I'll clean you up."

Kyle did as Stan asked, spreading his legs and looking back over his shoulder as Stan ran his hands down along Kyle's body. He could hide his stomach in this position, sort of, which Stan wanted, too, because he didn't want to feel like the baby was hanging out between them while they fucked.

"Are you hard?" Stan asked, reaching between Kyle's legs to stroke his cock, which was, yes, very hard. "Hmm, that's really - naughty, Kyle - oh, God, see, I'm not doing it right-"

"You are, too!" Kyle said. "Just don't say 'naughty.' It's too, I don't know. And I don't really like 'dirty,' either. Just - act like I've been bad and now I'm at your mercy."

Stan withheld a frustrated sigh. He felt like he was taking an AP sex test and failing. He just wanted to feel Kyle's tight heat around his fingers for a few minutes before sinking his dick in there, nothing more complicated than that. He rested his hands on Kyle's hips and sunk his teeth into Kyle's neck slowly, easing off when he gasped.

"Are you ready to take your medicine?" he asked, trying to sound menacing. He was pretty sure he remembered Cartman saying this to Butters when they were kids, possibly before pummeling him in some fashion. Kyle moaned and writhed in Stan's grip.

"Yeah," Kyle said. "_Fuck_, yeah."

Stan was kind of alarmed by how well that worked, but he kept at it while he slicked his fingers with soap from one of the wall-mounted dispensers, and whispered that he was giving Kyle his medicine while he fingered him. Kyle's moans echoed around the shower area, and he sounded as surprised as Stan was when he came against the wall of the shower just from having his prostate rubbed.

"Fuck," Kyle said, gasping his breath. "I've been so - it's the hormones, or something. I've been fucking myself like this in the shower, you know, thinking about you-"

"Dude, you can have me anytime," Stan said, wanting to cry when he thought of all the lost opportunities. "Just ask."

"You know I don't like asking! And just - I feel awkward. Felt. But this is good, this is so good, God. Give me that big dick, Stan. Fuck your little whore. I've been so bad, Stanny, thinking about your cock while I stuff my fingers in my - _ahh_! Yeah, that's - _yeah_."

Stan held Kyle tightly once he was all in, one hand sliding over Kyle's chest, his other arm braced across Kyle's ribcage. With the hot water beating against his back and Kyle squeezing around him like he was having some sort of anal orgasm just from the feeling of being stuffed full of dick, Stan felt like he might be okay with not moving at all. He slobbered on the back of Kyle's neck, biting him in places, careful not to leave marks. He normally loved to, but hated the thought that Terrell would see them during Kyle's check ups.

"Yeah, yeah," seemed to be all Kyle was capable of saying, and he was slumped against the wall of the shower as if he'd been tranquilized, motionless except for the occasional twitch of his shoulders. Stan felt sort of insane with lust, like he actually wanted to chew and swallow some part of Kyle as he mouthed at his skin.

"Want me to call you bad some more?" Stan asked when he'd started dragging his cock out slow, leaning back to watch when he sunk it back in. He wanted to say some really fucking poetic shit about Kyle's ass and how it looked while getting fed with cock, but he thought it would probably come out wrong.

"Call me your slut," Kyle said, moaning this against the tiles. "Your little come hungry slut."

"Mhmm," Stan said, alarmed. "You're - you're not a slut, though, Kyle. You've only ever had sex with one person. And I don't think you buy into the kind of shit that makes people who have sex with lots of people feel bad about it, even."

"Dude, what are you doing?" Kyle asked, his ass clamping hard around Stan's dick. Stan glued himself to Kyle's back again, pressing him more snugly to the tiles. "It's - I'm not - we're not being serious here!"

"I don't want to call you a slut!"

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because it makes me think about the fact that you're fighting with your mom," Stan said. "And I'm trying to fuck you, so."

"Trying, oh, God, what, like it's so hard-"

"Stop," Stan said, pinning Kyle when he squirmed. "Stop, Kyle. Just, you deserve this, okay? You deserve your - medicine because you're a good boy, Kyle. You're my good, good boy."

"Don't say that," Kyle said. He pushed out a frustrated sob, pinching his eyes shut against the tiles. "I'm bad, I'm so dirty, you said-"

"Shh, no. You deserve this big cock up your ass, don't you, Kyle? Because you're so good?" Stan was fucking him in shallow drags while he said so, and Kyle was shaking, his eyes still closed.

"Mhmm," was all he said. Stan felt him relax a little.

"Such a good boy," Stan said, whispering this in Kyle's ear. "Does my good boy like that? You like having me so deep inside you, Kyle?"

"Yes," Kyle said, whining. He pinched his eyes shut tighter, nodding. "Yes, oh. Stan. Please-"

"You're so good for letting me have you, Kyle. You're good because you love it, don't you? You _love_ it."

"I love it," Kyle said, nodding. He was hard again, humping the tiles. "I love it, Stan, I love it so much-"

"I know you do," Stan said, and this time he wasn't surprised when Kyle came as soon as Stan wrapped his hand around his cock. "That's good," Stan said, barely holding back himself while Kyle moaned and spurted in his hand. "Good boy, Kyle. I love it when you come on my dick. From having - oh, shit, gonna fill you up now."

"Please," Kyle said, squeezing him, and Stan came, his face pressed against the back of Kyle's neck. He was as quiet as possible, and he let out a breath he'd holding as he throbbed inside Kyle, starting to come down and realizing how overheated he was, sweat mixing into the water. Kyle was still shaking, whimpering and clenching like he wanted to milk every drop out of Stan.

"Dude," Stan said, kissing Kyle's cheek. "Was I - I didn't mess that up, did I?"

"I love you," Kyle said, sobbing it out. He pulled off of Stan and turned around, showing him everything before yanking him down for a kiss. "I love you," he said again, his lips moving on Stan's. "You didn't mess anything up. I don't think I did, either. Someone did, but not us. Biology, or something, that son of a bitch messed up. We're good, though, Stan. We deserve this."

Stan wasn't sure what he meant by 'this,' but he presumed Kyle was referring to amazingly satisfying shower sex and kissed him, reaching around to clean his come from Kyle's ass with his fingertips. Kyle gasped into his mouth and nodded when Stan reached for the soap.

"I just thought of something horrible," Kyle said while Stan continued to clean him out, his favorite shower sex tradition.

"What?" Stan asked.

"We didn't bring towels," Kyle said.

They turned the water off, and Stan went to the sinks and came back with a big handful of paper towels. Most of their thirty minute fuck session was actually just Stan carefully patting Kyle with paper towels until he was only slightly damp. They didn't tell Kenny or Butters this when they met up with them.

"I guess I gotta leave my flowers with you," Butters said to Kenny when they were walking toward Stan's car.

"You could say Stan got them for you," Kenny said. "To make you feel better, since he got some for Kyle."

"I guess I could say that," Butters said. He looked like he might cry, his face hovering over the flowers. "I really want to keep them. They're so pretty. I just feel like my folks will know somehow."

"They're gonna know a lot more soon enough," Kyle said. "When that baby comes and you won't sign it over to some adoption agency."

"Oh, it wouldn't be an agency," Butters said, still staring glumly at the flowers. "They got this childless couple picked out and everything. They've been over for dinner and tea and stuff."

"Holy shit," Stan said. "Did you know about this?" he asked Kenny.

"Yeah," Kenny said. "And I feel bad for these people, really, but we can't tip Butters' parents off about wanting to keep the baby yet. We need all the help we can get until D-Day."

"D-Day?" Kyle said.

"Delivery," Butters said. "I feel awful, Kyle, I really do! But my parents might throw me out if they know I'm not gonna give her up, and I don't want them to drop me off their insurance before the whole C-section and all."

"This is a mess," Kyle said.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Kenny said. "That's really helpful."

"We will help you guys, you know," Stan said. "I mean, obviously we don't have a lot of money to spare ourselves, but if you guys ever need a place to stay, or just, you know. Emotional support."

"Or advice," Kyle said. Kenny snorted.

"No shit, guys," he said. "I was kind of counting on us still being friends after the baby gets here, but thanks for the reassurance."

"I just feel like it needs to be said," Stan said, reaching for Kenny's shoulder. "We're here for you, man."

"Thanks," Kenny mumbled. He seemed embarrassed, and he was a little hurried in his goodbye to Butters, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before heading for his car.

"Is Kenny okay?" Kyle asked when they were in the car, driving toward Butters' house.

"Oh, heck, I don't know anymore," Butters said. He was looking out the window, both hands on his stomach, the flowers resting on the seat beside him. "He's a little tender."

In the end, Butters was too nervous to keep the flowers. He kissed them goodbye before handing them to Kyle and waddled to the front door of his house.

"This is terrible," Kyle said.

"It could be worse," Stan said. "At least they didn't pull Butters out of school or something."

"School will be over in two weeks, Stan! Then what are they going to do? I guess we can sneak Butters to the gas station once in a while, but what's that? I feel so bad for them." Kyle reached over to tuck some hair behind Stan's ear. "I'd die if I couldn't be with you whenever I wanted to."

"God, I know," Stan said. "Kenny must be going crazy, thinking about him alone in that house with those parents. I can't believe they're leading some poor couple on."

"Yeah, it's pretty twisted." Kyle sighed. "I suppose that's what they've been driven to, though. They're desperate."

Back at the house, Stan changed out of his semi-wet clothes and into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Kyle was asleep in the bed by the time he turned from his dresser, and Stan was exhausted, too. He climbed over Kyle and spooned him, settling his hand on Kyle's stomach.

"You were amazing," Kyle said, murmuring this into his pillow. Stan wasn't sure if he was talking in his sleep or referring to the shower sex. He licked the raw spots on Kyle's neck, deciding to assume it was the latter.

Stan woke up when he heard his parents' car pulling into the driveway. The sun was going down, and when he heard the cacophonous sound of his parents and Shelly wrangling all of her post-college belongings into the house, he realized that they'd slept through the last few hours of peace that they would have for a long time.

He kissed Kyle's cheek and left him sleeping in the bed. His father was on the stairs, carrying up some of Shelly's bags.

"Want some help?" Stan asked.

"Sure," Randy said. "Go out to the car. She's got a ton of shit. Hey," he said when Stan started to walk away. "Where's your guy? Did he go back to his parents' house?"

"No," Stan said, annoyed by the hopeful tone in his father's voice, though he couldn't really blame him for wanting that. "He's sleeping. He just finished all of those AP tests that he was so worried about, so try not to make too much noise, okay?"

"Okay, sure," Randy said. "Guess we gotta get used to tip-toeing around so the baby won't wake up, huh?"

"I guess so."

"He's sure he doesn't want to live over there during the infant years?" Randy adjusted one of the bags on his hip. "It might be good for your relationship, you know, some space-"

"Dad, we're not like that," Stan said. "Kyle is my space."

"Right, sure, but that might change when the baby's in your - space, too."

"Why are we having this conversation now?" Stan asked. Shelly had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, toting an overflowing laundry bin. "Hey," Stan said, turning to her. She was wearing an unflattering tube dress and flip flops, as if she'd just come from the beach.

"Hey," she said. Stan walked down to take the laundry bin from her, but she wouldn't let him. "I got it," she said, and Stan suppressed an eye roll.

"Just trying to help," he muttered.

"Go out and help Mom," Shelly said. "She's still unloading the car. Oh, hey," she said before Stan could make it down the stairs. "Before I unload all my crap - do you guys want my room?"

"Huh?"

"It's bigger," Shelly said. "Just a little, but. I thought, I don't know. Since you'll have three people living in one room and stuff."

"No, it's okay," Stan said. "But, thanks."

She shrugged and walked up the stairs.

Stan's parents and Shelly were tired from the drive, and they ordered pizza for dinner. They were in the kitchen, pulling open pizza boxes to determine which was which, when Kyle appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep.

"Is that my mom's shirt?" was the first thing Shelly said to him. Kyle put a hand on his stomach and stared at her.

"Welcome back," he said.

"Thanks." Shelly was staring at him openly, and Stan supposed that was actually better than pretending that she didn't need a moment to take it in.

"I think that is your shirt, Sharon," Randy said, as if he was going to demand that Kyle give it back.

"Kyle is welcome to it," Sharon said. "Honey, come here." She lifted her hand and waved Kyle in like he was a nervous puppy. "Get something to eat. How did your tests go?"

"Fine," Kyle said. He seemed uncomfortable, and he only put one piece of pizza on his plate, which was ludicrous. Stan had seen him eat two turkey burgers and half a bag of tater tots a few days before.

"How much longer do you have?" Shelly asked, staring at Kyle's stomach.

"About three months," Kyle said. "Or so they tell me. Nobody really knows what to expect at any given moment."

"It's a girl, though?" Shelly said.

"Seemingly," Kyle said. Shelly glanced at Stan. He shrugged, not sure why Kyle was regressing to this irritable pessimism in the presence of his sister. Stan hadn't told him about the text message she'd sent, because he didn't want Kyle to know that he'd been referred to as a delicate flower.

Dinner was quiet and slightly tense. They ate in the living room, in front of a Rockies game, and Kyle dozed off against Stan's chest in the seventh inning. Shelly kept looking over at him and frowning.

"What?" Stan finally said, cupping a hand over Kyle's ear. Randy was asleep, too, snoring in his armchair, and Stan's mother was talking to someone on the phone in the kitchen, laughing about something.

"This is just-" Shelly said, staring at Kyle. "So weird."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"What are you going to _do_?" she asked. "Mom said you're working at the drug store?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "And I'm going to keep working there, I guess, unless I can get something at the twenty-four hour one on Raintree. And Kyle's going to commute to CSU-"

"That's a two hour drive," Shelly said.

"Yeah, we know, but whatever, we'll deal with it. We have to live here until I can find some job in the city and we can get an apartment. I mean, that's the plan, eventually. But I'm gonna need mom's help at first, you know. With things. What are _you_ going to do?"

"I don't know," she said. "I majored in history. I guess I'll go to grad school. I kind of want to travel for a while."

"With what money?"

"I've been working for four years in Chicago," she said. "In the financial aid office, almost the whole time I was in school. You didn't know that?"

"It's not like we're Facebook friends," Stan said. He still refused to use it. "It's not like we talk." He twisted one of Kyle's curls around his finger, avoiding her eyes.

"I used to think you were such a lucky little fucker," she said. "I despised you for it when we were little. Now I feel sorry for you. It's a new feeling. I'm still processing it."

"Good luck with that." Stan slipped his arm around Kyle and roused him gently. "Dude," he said, whispering. Kyle blinked at him and Stan stroked his cheek, maybe showing off. Shelly had always been jealous of this, he knew. If she'd had boyfriends at college, she'd never brought them home. "Want to go up to bed?" Stan asked, and Kyle nodded, smiling. Stan could feel Shelly watching as he helped Kyle up.

"Are you hungry?" Stan asked. Kyle had only eaten two slices of pizza, but he shook his head. "Do you at least want some milk?"

"I'm good," Kyle said, and he grinned like that was a dirty word now, or an inside joke.

They headed upstairs, and Stan felt badly, as if he'd been mean to his sister. His situation with Kyle wasn't as enviable or effortless as it had once been, but they were still in a love bubble. It would be more crowded when the baby came, but Stan wasn't worried that it would burst.

"So your sister's still a bitch," Kyle said, yawning and dropping into bed. "No surprise there."

"She actually said something kind of sincere," Stan said. "About why she was mean to me when we were kids. She said she feels bad for us, you know. About this."

"I don't need her pity," Kyle said. "She has mine, actually, for that _tube dress_. I know people don't dress like that in Chicago. People don't even dress like that in South Park. Mhmm, see, my baby agrees with me."

Stan stretched out beside him, pressing his stomach to Kyle's so he could feel the baby move. It made him ridiculously happy to hear Kyle call her _my baby_, and to feel her antsy adjustments, as if she was already with them, cuddling herself into bed between them.

"Shelly offered me her room," Stan said, thinking of her downstairs, alone with the baseball game and Randy's snores.

"Really!" Kyle said, brightening. "Well, great, does she already have a place to live?"

"No, she meant as a trade. Since it's a little bigger."

"Oh. Well, that's stupid. It's not enough extra room to matter. Our baby needs a nursery, Stan. I want to be able to put her somewhere so we can be _alone_ together, you know, sometimes."

"I'm working on it," Stan said. "I'm gonna go to that twenty-four hour pharmacy tomorrow and ask if they need any help for the summer. I guess I need to hustle now that the college kids are back in town."

"God, don't say that." Kyle moaned and snuggled closer, pressing his face to Stan's.

"Why not? I think they'd probably pay more, since it's a bigger company-"

"No, I just meant - don't put a mental image of you hustling college students for the sake of Elway's nursery in my head."

"Oh, God. Go to sleep."

Kyle did, and Stan stayed up for a while, holding him and wondering if there were actual gay hustlers working in or around South Park. He'd had a persistent worry, ever since Kenny had gotten beat up, that his secret backup plan was to sell himself. Kenny would do anything for Butters, and he had a kind of dark edge that might lead him there. Stan wished they had an extra room at the Marsh house not just for Elway's nursery but also for Kenny, Butters, and their baby.

With the AP tests out of the way, class was more pointless and rowdy than ever, but Stan still looked forward to it. Kyle seemed to as well, relaxed and happier without the tests to worry about. He even read the _Parenting_ magazines, though mostly he scoffed at them for being condescending.

"So are we doing a mini-graduation ceremony?" Wendy asked when the actual Park County High ceremony was just a few days away. Wendy was valedictorian and would attend. Everyone else was sitting out to support their partners. Cartman claimed not to give a shit about Wendy showing her face in the real world, but Stan had noticed that he got pissy and silent when she talked about graduation.

"Ceremonies are kind of stupid," Henrietta said. "Unless they involve, like. Actual rituals."

"It is an actual ritual to mark graduation with a ceremony," Wendy said. "Maybe not the kind of ritual where you drink goat's blood and try to raise the dead-"

"Drinking goat's blood would not raise the dead," Henrietta said.

"Oh, you don't say?" Wendy huffed and looked at Cartman as if to say,_ Can you believe this bitch?_

"I agree with Mistress Darkflab over there," Cartman said. "Graduation is stupid. Ooh, wow, you finished fucking high school! Like it's hard."

"Some people didn't just finish," Wendy said. "Some people finished _first_. And some people's boyfriends claimed that they were proud of them, I guess that was a lie?"

"You call him your boyfriend now?" Craig said, sounding disgusted.

"She's actually my fiancée," Cartman said, still looking at Wendy, his eyes narrowed. "Not that she'll ever fucking tell anyone, or wear her fucking _ring_ or anything."

"I never technically said yes!" Wendy glanced around the circle. Stan could feel Kyle's glee at this turn of events like a thing that had begun vibrating at his side. "Let's not talk about this here," Wendy said to Cartman.

"Why not?" Cartman asked. "Oh, because you're ashamed of me? Even in front of these gay assholes? Right, okay, well. Maybe I'll just take care of the baby alone, and let her suck on that ring I bought for you like a diamond pacifier."

"Quit being so histrionic! And don't even joke about giving my baby something she could choke on."

"Your baby? _Your_ baby, Wendy? I knew it, I fucking knew it. You're only faking like you care about me so that you can kidnap Kinglet and run off with her once she's done incubating in my fucking body!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Eric-"

"Admit it, Wendy! That's so something you would do!"

"Eric, this is going from amusing to humiliating," Mr. Garrison said. "Take it out in the hall if you need to continue emasculating yourself."

"What's left to emasculate?" Cartman asked. He stood with some difficulty and slapped Wendy's hands away when she tried to help him. "She's taken everything, everything I fucking had! Look at me! Why don't you just go ahead and take my cock, Wendy, since you like riding it so much? Take my cock, and my fucking kid, and then you'll have all the parts of me that you actually give a shit about!"

"Whoa," Kyle said. "Even I'm not enjoying this anymore," he said, muttering to Stan, who felt he should do something. Butters was cowering against Kenny's side as if he was afraid physical violence was about to break out.

"Eric, _I love you_!" Wendy said, shouting. Tweek shouted, too, pulling the little green blanket he was knitting over his head like a shield. "I love you, asshole, look - I'm saying it front of everyone!" She was pulling at Cartman's arms, trying to get him to turn and face her. "I just can't get married as a teenager, I'm not a hillbilly!"

"It's because you're planning on ditching me eventually," Cartman said. He was starting to cry. Stan wondered if they should all maybe get up and leave him and Wendy alone in the room. Everyone was staring, wide-eyed, except for Butters, who had covered his eyes with his hand, and Tweek, who was peeking out from under the blanket he'd put on his head.

"Eric," Wendy said. "You told me to inform you objectively when you start acting like a hormonal bitch, so here: you're acting like a hormonal bitch."

"Fuck you, Wendy, I'm sick of your lies!" Cartman was sobbing, backing away from her when she reached for him. "I saw the check receipt on your bank account online. Two hundred dollars to Yale University? You told me you weren't going there!"

"What are you doing hacking into my bank account?" Wendy asked. "God, speaking of lying! I can't trust you, you're always checking up on me!"

"Careful, Cartman!" Kyle said as Cartman continued to back away from Wendy. "You'll trip over a desk!"

"Kids, I think I need to shut this little cry fest down," Garrison said. "I'm starting to get bored with it, for one thing."

"Just get out of here, Wendy!" Cartman said, pointing at the door. "If you want to attend your _normal person_ graduation, and your precious little hippie college, and - and wait to get married because we both know you're not really gonna marry me, just get the hell out of the fucking Mommy Circle!"

Someone moaned, and Stan didn't even look, assuming it was Craig making a complaint about melodrama or something. He didn't turn until he heard Token say "Baby?," his voiced hitched with panic.

Kyle turned to look, too, and he grabbed Stan's wrist when Clyde doubled over in his chair, moaning and holding his stomach.

"Ow, _shit_," Clyde said. He sunk down onto the floor, on his knees, and Token went with him, his hands hovering around Clyde's shoulders like he couldn't decide if his touch would hurt or comfort him. "Something's wrong," Clyde said, looking up at the circle of people who had gone silent around him. His eyes were huge, terrified. "It hurts, _ah_ - Token-"

"What hurts?" Token asked. "You – your stomach, or—"

"Ah-_haah_!" Clyde cried out wordlessly, putting his forehead against the ground. Kyle was holding Stan's wrist hard enough to leave a bruise as Clyde sobbed into the carpet, rocking.

"Somebody call 911!" Token said, pulling Clyde against his chest.

"Already doing it," Wendy said. She had her phone to her ear. "It's still ringing – ah, yeah, hi, we need an ambulance at Park County High, right away, it's one of the pregnant boys—"

"Clyde," Mr. Garrison said. He was white-faced as he rose from his chair, and Stan realized that he'd never seen him look truly stunned before. "What – what's happening?"

"Nnnhhh, it hurts!" Clyde said, pulling at Token's sweater. "Fuck, fuck-k_ahh_—"

"He's, he's having pains-" Wendy said, her voice shaking badly as she spoke to the operator. "I don't, I don't know, he's just screaming! Someone has to come, please, fast—"

"Let's bring him outside," Garrison said, kneeling down beside Clyde and Token, who was whispering to Clyde, starting to cry. "So the paramedics will see him right away. Clyde, hun, can you walk?"

Clyde quaked like he was trying to speak and coughed. Somebody screamed – Tweek, maybe, but considering the way his stomach dropped when he saw blood leaking from the corner of Clyde's lips, Stan thought he might have been the one who screamed, or maybe everybody in the room did. Reality was starting to twist into something incomprehensible, and Stan could hear Kyle breathing hard.

"Oh, Jesus," Kenny said. "Jesus Christ—"

"Clyde," Butters said, crying.

"It's okay," Token was saying, sobbing and wiping at the corner of Clyde's mouth. "Baby, no, it's okay."

Clyde had gone completely white, and he was visibly shaking when Token lifted him into his arms. His eyes were blown open, but they seemed unseeing, glazed with terror.

"He's coughing up blood," Wendy said, still on the phone, her words broken by gasps. "W-we're bringing him out front, to the school steps."

They went in silence, except for Wendy's conversation with the 911 operator, which Stan heard as a kind of blur in the background, like the noise of a television from another room. Clyde had his eyes closed, and Stan wasn't sure what that meant. He wasn't coughing up anymore blood, but his chin was wet and red. Kyle still hadn't let go of Stan's wrist. They both looked straight ahead or at Clyde, not at each other.

Stan threw up in the bushes by the main stairs as the ambulance was pulling into the parking lot, sirens wailing. When he stood on wobbly legs he saw Token handing Clyde over to the paramedics, who arranged him on a gurney. Token was trying to talk, giving them Clyde's age and telling them he was just shy of seven months pregnant. Leaning against the side of the school, Stan wondered if the paramedics were glad to have glimpsed one of the infamous, cloistered pregnant boys, if they were excited on some level, because this was historic: the first pregnant boy with life threatening complications.

The ambulance left, Token riding up front with the driver. Everyone watched it go, shocked into silence, and Stan felt his stomach lurch again, but he swallowed down the urge to get sick.

"Oh my God," Tweek said, or maybe he'd been saying it the whole time, over and over. "Oh, oh my God, Jesus—" He was hugged under Craig's arm, his hand on Craig's stomach. Craig was silent but not stoic, his mouth hanging open as they listened to the sound of the ambulance's sirens recede.

"Ha – he'll be okay," Wendy said. She went to Cartman and fell against his chest. He hugged her in slow motion, like his limbs had grown heavier. Cartman looked like Craig did, demoralized and aghast, and Stan realized that Kyle looked that way, too. They were thinking that Clyde was the first, that they were next.

"We should pray for him," Stan said, grabbing for Kyle's hand. Everyone turned to stare at him. He was pretty sure he had some puke on his chin, but he left it there. "If, if you guys want to."

"Yeah," Kenny said. "I want to. Let's – yeah."

"That's a good idea," Butters said, nodding once. His face was wet. He took Kenny's hand, grasping for Stan's with the other. Kyle said nothing, but reached for Wendy's hand as they formed a circle on the landing at the top of the main staircase. The only one who abstained was Henrietta, and not until he realized she wasn't participating in the prayer circle did Stan notice that she was sitting at the top of the steps, pressed to the building, sobbing hysterically.

"Henrietta?" Stan said. "You – are you – it's a nondenominational prayer, you can—"

"No," she said, gasping for breath. "No, no, I didn't – I can't –"

"Oh," Kyle said, and he dropped Stan and Wendy's hands. He went to Henrietta and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Shh-shh," he said.

"Please," Henrietta said. "Please, I'm sorry—"

"Sorry?" Cartman said. "For what?"

Henrietta said nothing, just turned to grab for Kyle and buried her face in his chest, crying hard. Kyle turned to look at Stan.

"Go ahead," he said. He put his hand over Henrietta's head. "I'll pray from here."

"Um, okay," Stan said, though he didn't like the idea of Kyle not being included. It seemed like bad luck. "So, who wants to—"

"Dear God," Cartman said, loudly, looking upward before closing his eyes. "I know we're some kind of sick joke to you, apparently—"

"Eric!" Butters said. "Don't make Him angry!"

"—But, like, as fucked up as what you did to us is, here we are, taking care of your creations in our goddamn bodies, and we're doing a pretty good job, okay, God, I think? Considering the circumstances? So even if you thought this was funny at the beginning, whatever, we're in this for real, okay, down here, and we actually want these kids, and Clyde might be kind of a d-bag, I mean, you would know, you designed him that way—"

"Eric," Wendy said.

"—And Token might be a rich, smug asshole with a stick up his ass, but goddammit, leave them alone! Haven't you done enough? I mean, look at us, God, we're boys and we're fucking pregnant. That was the funny part for you, right, not like, tricking us into getting okay with it and then pulling some kind of fucking bait and switch. Basically, God, what I'm saying is: don't try to fuck with my baby, 'cause I will fucking kill you if you do."

"Ditto for mine," Kenny said. Stan sighed and let go of Butters' and Wendy's hands. He should have expected as much from a prayer circle with this crowd.

"Guys," Craig said. He looked dazed, still holding Kenny's and Tweek's hands as the circle broke apart. "He – that. When they were strapping him in he looked kind of. Dead."

"Craig!" Wendy shrieked.

"I'm just saying!" Craig said. His voice broke, something Stan thought he'd never hear. "This might be – oh, shit, what if that's what's going to happen to all of us—"

"No!" Tweek shouted. "Please, God, no, please—!"

"Alright, Craig," Garrison said. "I think we've had enough grim reality for one day. Let's just – let's try to, uh, send all our positive thoughts to Clyde."

Stan sat beside Kyle and hugged his arm around Kyle's shoulders. Henrietta was still crying. Kyle just looked like he'd been hit hard in the head and he didn't quite know where he was.

"Dude," Stan said. "You okay?"

"Um." Kyle looked down at Henrietta, then into the parking lot, his lips twitching. "I don't know."

Stan drove Henrietta home. Kyle was silent in the passenger seat, and Henrietta was still blubbering, blotting at her eyes with her sleeves. Stan tried to help her out of the car, but she ran around him and bolted for the door.

"What the hell was that?" Stan asked as he got back behind the wheel.

"I don't know," Kyle said. "It was pretty. Shocking, that. I think she was just shocked."

They went back to the house and lay in bed, holding each other and listening to the low drone of the electronics in the room. Around midnight Wendy called to inform them that she was at the hospital and Clyde was alive.

"They had to – you know," she said. Her voice was much steadier than it had been earlier, though grave. "Take the baby out."

"It died?" Stan said, his voice breaking, because that wasn't possible, no.

"No," Wendy said. "But, um. Their baby, he weighs three pounds, and. Clyde's in a medically induced coma, um. It's not good."

"What?" Kyle said. He was sitting on the bed, glowering like he wanted to kill someone. "What, that's it? They're all just going to _die_, that's the whole—"

"The baby didn't die," Stan said. "Wendy – I gotta – what are the doctors saying?"

"They're saying, um. That it's not good. I don't know. I'll call you if anything happens."

"Is Cartman there?" Stan asked.

"No, but Kenny is," Wendy said. "Are you with Kyle?"

"Uh-huh."

"Give – give him a kiss for me, alright?" she said, gasping a little, and she hung up.

"We need to get Terrell over here to examine you," Stan said, hanging up the phone.

"He's coming in the morning," Kyle said.

"But, dude—"

"What difference is it going to make?" Kyle asked, his eyes two angry slits, red and wet. "If I'm going to start hemorrhaging and coughing up blood, what is he going to do? They don't _know_ what to do, Stan. They made us all these promises, but they don't know—"

He stopped when Stan fell onto the bed with him and pulled him into his arms. Kyle wasn't crying exactly, just breathing hard in loud, wounded puffs, like he was staggering through the woods with a spear in his back.

"I don't want to die," he said.

"You won't," Stan said, and he felt like Cartman must have when he threatened to kill God. Nothing was taking Kyle from him. Nothing was bigger or stronger than the universe-ending rage he would unleash if he had to go a day without Kyle.

"And – this – I told you the other night, when I had a bad dream, when I was alone here, I talked to her? It's not just then, Stan. I talk to her a lot, these dumb little – like you'd talk to a little kid, if the kid was really there, but she's not here, I can't hold her, I can't – _oh_, God. I don't want her to die, Stan. I don't want her to die."

Stan was going to promise that she wouldn't, even though he couldn't, but he heard something distinctive and familiar before he could find the words. It was high pitched, grating, getting louder as footsteps pounded up the stairs.

"Is that—" Kyle said, lifting his head from Stan's shoulder.

"Kyle?" Sheila said as she threw open Stan's bedroom door, barreling through it. "Kyle!"

"Mommy," Kyle cried, launching off the bed.

They fell together and sunk to the floor, Kyle crying hard and Sheila pressing him to her. She pet Kyle's hair as he sobbed against her shoulder, shaking his head.

"I heard that one of the boys was sick, on his death bed," Sheila said, sniffling and looking at Stan. "One of the pregnant boys – that horrible Jessie Tucker called and told me, but she couldn't remember which one. I thought – oh, Kyle! I thought it might be you, my poor bubbeh, my little boy!"

"It might be," Kyle said, clinging to her. "I could be next, or Butters, Cartman, Craig—"

Sheila started speaking lowly, and Stan couldn't make out the words. It took him a moment to realize she was speaking Hebrew, or singing it, really, in a steady hum, petting Kyle like she was praying for him. Kyle stopped babbling and listened, his eyes slitted, cheeks wet. Stan's mother was in the hallway, whispering to Shelly, who sounded agitated, as if she wanted to go kick the ass of whoever was hurting the pregnant boys.

"Stanley, come here," Sheila said, holding one arm out. "Come, sweetheart, it's okay."

Stan went to them and knelt down, ducking under Kyle's arm and letting him pull him in close. Sheila put her arms around both of them and went on speaking that language that Stan couldn't understand, except that he knew she was worried for them, begging God not to harm them, and trying to keep them safe.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This is a kind of mini-chapter, because it only does about half of what I wanted it to. It took forever to write for some reason, and I suspect the next half will take longer, so I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long! More to come asap, thanks so much for reading.

* * *

><p>Kyle went home with Sheila that night, and Stan did, too. It was strangely comforting to be back in Kyle's bed after so many nights away from it, and Stan slept deeply, his face pressed to Kyle's side. In the morning, he got the feeling that Kyle hadn't slept at all.<p>

"You got a message from Wendy," Kyle said, handing Stan his phone.

"What'd it say?"

"I don't know," Kyle said. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't read it. I was afraid it would be bad news."

Stan opened Wendy's message and read it to Kyle when he saw that, while it wasn't good news, it wasn't bad news, either:

"Kenny is still at the hospital with Token. No change to condition of Clyde or baby. Doctors not saying much, though."

Stan sent a response thanking her for keeping them informed and set his phone back on the nightstand. He rested his chin on Kyle's shoulder and waited to come up with something reassuring to say.

"Smells like your mom's cooking breakfast."

"She always does this after we have a really bad fight," Kyle said. "Non-stop fattening foods. I hope she's making French toast. With huge pieces of challah. And butter sauce. I want it with butter sauce instead of maple syrup - is that a pregnancy thing, or am I just weird?"

"You're just weird," Stan said, and he kissed Kyle's throat.

"Even after everything that happened, I still don't want to see that goddamn doctor," Kyle said.

"But you have to," Stan said. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I know," he said. "I know I have to. I just know what he's going to tell me. That he doesn't know enough yet to take any action. That we just need to sit tight and see how things progress. That's all I've been hearing for seven months."

Terrell arrived looking less chipper than usual, a large to-go coffee in hand. Kyle was on the couch, still wearing Stan's old sweatpants and the Blood Drive shirt, and he didn't even bother to acknowledge Terrell as he entered.

"Doctor, thank goodness!" Sheila said, crowding him at the door. "We're so worried. Poor little Clyde - have you been to the hospital?"

"Yes," Terrell said. "We were all there, all of the doctors who were treating the pregnant boys. Ah - are you cooking?"

"What?" Sheila turned toward the kitchen. "Oh, yes, I made some pancakes for Kyle. Would you like some?"

"Yes, thank you." Terrell lifted up his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry to impose, but I've been up all night, and none of us thought to eat."

"How's Clyde doing?" Stan asked.

"They're still keeping him under with barbiturates," Terrell said. "There was a fear that he might have an aneurysm. I think that's mostly passed, but they had to do an emergency hysterectomy, and his body is reacting to the loss of the womb in ways that have his doctors pretty confused."

"Oh, my God," Sheila said. "This won't happen to Kyle, will it?"

"He doesn't know, Mother," Kyle said. Stan went to sit with him, and Kyle listlessly allowed Stan to put his arms around him.

"It's true that we don't know," Terrell said. "Clyde Donovan had some really great doctors taking care of him, and none of them saw this coming."

"What is 'this,' exactly?" Stan asked. "Why was he coughing up blood?"

"He went into premature labor for some reason," Terrell said. "And it's like his body just went - haywire, to put it crudely. He had a buildup of fluid in his lungs, which we can't explain. Almost all of his internal organs have suffered some degree of trauma because of the womb - because of whatever happened with the womb. We're still trying to determine that. We've got it in the lab now. The womb, or - the remains of it, anyway."

"What about the baby?" Kyle asked. "Is he in the lab with the rest of the _remains_?"

"Well, no," Terrell said, and he actually seemed remorseful, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "The baby has a very low birth weight, barely three pounds. He's in an incubator. I've seen three pound preemies survive before, but, you know. I've also seen them not survive."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Kyle asked. He still hadn't turned to look at Terrell. "Just wait until my womb explodes and hope for the best?"

"Kyle, don't be so negative!" Sheila said. Her voice was a little ragged. "Clyde's experience could be the exception. It's not necessarily the rule."

"That's true," Terrell said. "But I do want to go back to examining Kyle daily now that this has happened. And I think we should go to Dr. White's office this morning for another ultrasound."

"That sounds like a good idea," Sheila said. "Come, doctor, have some pancakes."

"I'm glad his breakfast takes precedence over my examination," Kyle said to Stan when his mother and Dr. Terrell were in the kitchen.

"Yeah, seriously," Stan said. "What a dick." Stan put his hand over Kyle's stomach, willing everything to continue being okay. "I'm glad we're going to do an ultrasound today, though. I want to see her."

Kyle made a noncommittal noise and slumped against Stan's side.

The examination yielded nothing new, except that Kyle was actually willing to look at the baby during the ultrasound. Stan thought he would be overjoyed when this finally happened, but mostly he was trying not to sob pathetically, because Kyle was looking at her with queasy apprehension, as if the grainy image of Elway was a prophecy of doom.

"We're interviewing Clyde's family about changes in his diet or other environmental factors that might have caused this to happen," Terrell said as they were all leaving Dr. White's office. "I need to sleep for a few hours, but after that I'm going back to the hospital to confer with the other doctors. You can reach me on my cell if there are any issues, but at the moment, Kyle and the baby appear to be fine."

"Kind of like Clyde appeared to be fine about two seconds before he wasn't," Kyle muttered once Terrell was out of earshot, walking toward this car.

"This is all so terrible," Sheila said as they climbed into her car, Kyle taking the passenger seat. "Have they canceled your class for tonight?"

"I haven't heard anything about class," Stan said. "But, yeah. I don't want to be there, in that room where that - happened."

"I do," Kyle said. "Well, not in that room, maybe, but I want to be with the others. We need to put our heads together and try to figure this thing out before someone else keels over."

"Bubbeh, that's what the doctors are doing!" Sheila said. "You need to rest. I think you should stay home from school, at least for tonight. God knows you're not learning anything there, anyway."

"I am, actually," Kyle said. "Nothing I could use in college, but since my exams ended we've all been talking about pregnancy stuff. It's - it helps. Having the others around."

"Maybe we should go to the hospital," Stan said.

"Stanley, no!" Sheila said. "Kyle is not going near the hospital unless it's absolutely necessary! There's too many dangerous germs around."

"Stan should go," Kyle said. "To show our support."

"Dude," Stan said, nervous at the thought of seeing Token after what had happened. "I don't want to be away from you right now."

"Oh, Stanley, give it a rest," Sheila said. "The world's not going to end if you two separate for a few hours."

"It's okay," Kyle said, looking into the back. "I need to sleep for a while, anyway. Last night was kind of, um. I didn't sleep much."

"Fine," Stan said, feeling rejected. "Should I bring flowers or something?"

"God, no!" Sheila said. "Don't waste your money. The poor boy isn't even conscious."

Sheila dropped Stan off at Hell's Pass, and he was glad to be away from her but already aching for Kyle. If something happened with Elway, Stan wanted to be there to scoop Kyle up the way that Token had with Clyde.

He found Token sitting with Clyde's father and stepmother in the third floor waiting room. For a moment Token stared at Stan as if he wasn't sure who he was, then he sprung up out of his chair and reached for Stan's hand like he was about to interview for a job. Stan took his hand and pulled him into a hug.

"He's the same," Token said when Stan leaned back. "Clyde, I mean. The baby made it through the night, which they say is a good sign. I mean, obviously it's a good sign." Token winced and rubbed his hand over his face. "But, you know, that's, um, this indicator that he might, like. Survive. Obviously - sorry. I don't know what I'm saying, I haven't slept."

"Stanley," Mr. Donovan said, standing. They knew each other from various football events that had involved the parents. Stan hugged him awkwardly, then his wife, who looked a lot like Clyde's late mother, only younger and with longer hair.

"Thank you for coming," she said, squeezing Stan's arm. "We didn't know Clyde had so many nice friends."

"They're mostly familiar with Craig," Token said, walking Stan away from Clyde's parents. Token looked beyond tired, and he was still wearing the clothes he'd had on in class, his collar stained with blood. Stan wondered where his parents were, and why they hadn't brought him clean clothes.

"How are you?" Stan asked, though he could guess. Token shrugged.

"I think I know what it means to say you can't think straight," he said. "Literally, like. I've lost the ability to have a linear thought process. Everything is this fucked up fuzz, and I can't even decide to get up and get coffee."

"I could get you some coffee," Stan said. Token shook his head.

"Clyde's dad brought me some before. It fucked up my stomach. Thanks, though. How's Kyle?"

"He saw his doctors this morning and they say he's fine," Stan said. "We're worried, though. I guess everybody is. But we're all thinking of Clyde and, um. Does your baby have a name?"

"Clyde wanted Nicholas," Token said. His gaze drifted over Stan's shoulder, and Stan could see the fuzz Token was talking about, a kind of blurred confusion in his eyes. "But I thought, what if they call him Nick? Nick Black? It's too sharp or something. But now I'd let Clyde name him anything if he'd just wake up."

"He's still in a coma?"

"They put him in one to prevent brain damage," Token said. He closed his eyes, and Stan prepared to catch him if he fell asleep standing up. "Now they're trying to bring him out, but there are complications, they say. I thought everything was so fucking complicated before, you know, because me and Clyde were talking, finally, about things, about the future. Now it all seems so goddamn simple."

"You love him," Stan said, and Token's eyes sharpened.

"That was never one of the complications," he said. "I've loved Clyde for a long time. You and Kyle didn't have a monopoly on prepubescent longing."

"Okay," Stan said, reaching for Token's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Of course you love him, I just meant-"

"It's alright," Token said. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Oh," he said, looking over Stan's shoulder. He waved, and Stan turned to see Bebe coming toward them, her eyes red and her arms hugged across her chest.

"Wendy told me," she said, and she fell into Token's arms. Stan lingered, feeling awkward, and patted Bebe's shoulder. He hadn't seen her in a long time, or even given much thought to anyone outside the Mommy Circle.

"He's okay for now," Token said while Bebe wiped at her face. "They're mostly worried about his lungs. There was some damage. They're worried about the baby's lungs, too, because they're not fully formed yet. They're both, you know." He made an indistinct gesture around his mouth. "On a respirator."

"You've seen the baby?" Bebe asked, and Token nodded.

"He's really little," he said, his voice dropping lower with each word.

"Can we see Clyde?" Bebe asked.

"I don't know," Token said. "I saw him a few hours ago, and he's not responsive or anything. He just lies there, and he's so pale." Token seemed to zone out, and again Stan half-expected him to fall over.

"Is Kyle okay?" Bebe asked, taking Stan's wrist.

"Yeah," Stan said. "Scared, though."

"Wendy told me it was horrible," Bebe said. She shook her head. "Poor Clyde. Do they know what happened?"

"They don't know anything," Token said. "They still don't know how he was able to get pregnant, or why it happened to four other guys-"

"It's my fault," Bebe said. "It was my party, wasn't it? Something that happened there?"

"That was the night we had sex," Token said, muttering. "But you didn't do anything. C'mere." He hugged her again. Stan was beginning to feel antsy, jumping when doctors were paged on the intercom.

"Is there anything you guys need?" Stan asked. "Anything we could bring?"

"No, thanks," Token said. "I just need to sit here until he wakes up. He'll want to know if the baby's okay, and I just need to tell him that yeah, he's okay, and then I'll be okay, and until then I can't think about anything."

"Where are your parents?" Bebe asked.

"They went home a couple of hours ago," Token said. "I think they're rooting for Clyde and the baby to just kick it so I can get on with my life."

"Dude, stop," Stan said. "You know that's not true."

"Really, Token," Bebe said. "They love you, they'd never hope for that."

"I know." He rubbed his eyes again, moaning. "Don't listen to me, I'm delirious. They're not happy about this, though. And all the shit they've said to me over the past few months really stings now that Clyde's fighting for his life."

"Look," Bebe said. "If I sit with you in there, would you put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep for a little bit? I know you don't want to leave, but that way you could get some rest and still be here if anything changes."

"I guess it's worth a try," Token said. He didn't sound very hopeful about the prospect of sleeping. Stan hugged both of them and left, saying he had to get back to Kyle, which was true. It felt imperative.

Not in the mood for a car ride with Sheila, Stan called his parents' house, though he knew both of them had probably gone to work. They seemed to have forgotten to turn the answering machine on; Shelly picked up on the eighth ring.

"Hey," Stan said. "I'm at Hell's Pass-"

"Shit," she said. "What happened? Did you call mom?"

"Nothing happened, I'm just visiting Token. And Clyde, I guess, but I didn't see him. Can you come pick me up? Kyle's mom dropped me off, and I really don't feel like dealing with her right now."

"Oh. Sure. Meet me out front, I guess."

"Kay."

Stan bought some Sweet Tarts from the hospital gift shop and sat outside on the curb, crunching the candy between his teeth. The sun was out, and it seemed obscene as it illuminated the hospital parking lot, people in varying levels of distress walking in and out of the main doors. By the time he saw Shelly's car he was ready to run.

"So what's the deal?" she asked when Stan only crunched Sweet Tarts and stared out the window as they pulled out onto the road.

"Everybody's breathing, but they're doing it with respirators," Stan said. He had to fight off a mental image of Kyle in a hospital bed, tubes in his nose and arms, their tiny baby in an glass box in some other room. "There was organ damage," he said when Shelly was silent. "To Clyde, I mean."

"This is messed up," she said. "So messed up." She reached over to pat Stan's knee. "But maybe it's just their bad luck. They don't have Marsh genes. I weighed almost eleven pounds when I was born, did you know that?"

"No," Stan said, fidgeting. He'd asked his mom recently, and she said he'd weighed only seven pounds. Stan had been happy with this, because that was John Elway's number, but the idea that his sister had weighed more was amorphously emasculating.

"And Kyle," Shelly said. "The Broflovskis have some largeness in their genes, definitely. And Kyle's had all kinds of organ shit already. He knows how to handle it."

"You're not making me feel better by reminding me that he only has one sort of fucked up kidney."

"I think Kyle will be okay," Shelly said. "He's not as fragile as you treat him."

"I don't treat him like he is!"

"Yeah, you do. You take him up to bed whispering about milk like he's three years old."

"Hello, it's kind of a special circumstance? I mean, what, you want me to act like he's not pregnant, and tired, and like it's not my fault?"

"Stan, you act like that anyway! You've been treating him like that since you guys were kids, and he's some kind of freaking mastermind for getting you to act the way you do, I don't know how he does it, probably don't want to know-"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Stan said. He bit down hard on a Sweet Tart and winced, fearing a chipped tooth.

"I don't even mean to make you feel bad about it," Shelly said. "Well, maybe I do, a little, but only because I'm jealous, dipshit. Mostly what I'm saying is that you don't treat Kyle that way because it's how he needs to be handled, you do it because he's manipulated you into it. And I'm not trying to trash Kyle. I admire this about him."

"I don't understand how this is supposed to make me feel better," Stan said. "If that's even your goal."

"It is my goal, and I'm just trying to remind you that your kid comes from pretty tough stock. Quit being a whiny little pussy and take that to heart."

"Whatever," Stan said. "Drop me off at Kyle's."

"Fine. I'm sorry I said anything."

Stan sat in petulant silence for the rest of the car ride, insults bubbling at the base of his throat. He kept them there, because he didn't want to hurt her, even if she was wrong about Kyle. She had actually seemed to want to compliment him in some twisted way.

"Thanks for the ride," Stan muttered as she pulled into the Broflovskis' driveway.

"No problem," she said. "Not like I've got anything better to do."

"I think Kyle wants to stay with his parents for a few days," Stan said. "But if we end up going to class tonight, I'll be over later to get my stuff. And my car."

"Right," Shelly said. They sat there together for a moment, swathed in mutual awkwardness, and Stan wondered if he should say something else. He decided against it and waved as he climbed out of the car.

The front door was locked, and Stan felt stupid knocking as Shelly drove away. Ike answered, holding a bowl of cereal and looking as if he'd just woken up, though by then it was almost three o'clock in the afternoon.

"What happened?" Ike asked.

"Nothing," Stan said. "I'm just here for Kyle."

It was true that this was what being there for Kyle had begun to feel like: nothing, because that was exactly what he would be able to do for Kyle if he should spill out of his chair without warning the way Clyde had.

"I stayed home from school today," Ike said. He followed Stan up the stairs, still carrying his cereal bowl. "In case something happened, in case Kyle needed me, you know."

"That was nice of you," Stan said. "How is he?"

"Just sleeping and moping around," Ike said. "I think he might be awake now. Mom checks on him, like, every ten minutes. He says he feels okay."

Stan opened Kyle's bedroom door without knocking, wishing Ike would back off a little. He wanted to be alone with Kyle; everyone else was making him anxious. Kyle was in bed, looking like he did when Stan would come see him after school on a day when he'd stayed home sick, only this time he was forty pounds heavier and wearing Stan's mother's shirt.

"Are you okay?" Ike asked, hovering in the doorway while Stan went to the bed.

"Fine," Kyle said. "Just, mph." He put his arms out and Stan leaned down into them. Kyle clung and nuzzled like they'd been apart for days.

"Okay," Ike said, backing out of the room. "I'll check on you again in ten minutes. So don't, you know. Do anything naked-like."

"Ike, you don't have to check on me," Kyle said, peeking at him from over Stan's shoulder. "Stan is here now."

After a long day of being told that he was overprotective and easily manipulated, Stan needed to hear that. He held on tight while Ike shut the door and left.

"Did you see the baby?" Kyle asked before Stan could say anything.

"No," Stan said. He stretched out on the bed and gathered Kyle against his side, letting Kyle's head rest in the crook of his shoulder. Having the weight of Kyle's stomach pressed against him was immensely comforting, and Stan stroked him there. "I think I was afraid to," Stan said.

"Afraid to see their baby?"

"Yeah. What if. I don't know."

"No, I get it," Kyle said. "I still can't even look at Elway on the monitor without feeling sick. It's too much vulnerability, you know? It hurts to look at."

"That's why you don't like looking at her? I thought it was because of the seeing your insides thing."

"I don't like that either." Kyle tucked his face against Stan's shoulder more snugly. "But it's mostly, like. It's like when your cock gets soft after we have sex."

"What?" Stan said, laughing.

"It just kills me in a way - don't laugh! You know, it goes from this big, hard thing that just tore me apart-"

"Kyle, dude. I don't tear you apart."

"I meant in a good way," Kyle said, patting him. "Okay, it goes from this thing that just reshaped my whole fucking body, how's that, and becomes this sweet, tired, spent little soft thing."

"Okay," Stan said, confused. "So you don't want to see my dick after it goes soft?"

"It's not that I don't want to see it. It just makes me ache. How sort of - dear to me it is. In that form. I mean, I'm not hungry for it like I am when you're hard, I just want to protect it and tuck it somewhere safe - oh, fuck, I don't know what I'm talking about, never mind."

"No, I get it," Stan said. "I think."

"You're getting hard," Kyle said, eying Stan's crotch.

"That doesn't mean I don't understand what you mean," Stan said. He shifted, parting his legs a little. "It's just, dude. You're talking about being hungry for my cock."

"I don't really feel like fucking," Kyle said, staring down at Stan's tenting jeans glumly.

"That's okay," Stan said. "I could go take a shower and beat off."

"Nnh, no, I'd feel left out." Kyle reached down to cup his hand around Stan's crotch, rubbing him with his thumb.

"You could come with me," Stan said, arching lazily.

"I don't feel like a shower," Kyle said. "Maybe I could just jerk you off. Like the old days."

"Okay," Stan said, dreading this somewhat. Kyle was not good at hand jobs. He never jerked Stan fast or hard enough, and tended to handle Stan's dick like it was a piece of priceless art that could only be fully appreciated through touch.

Fortunately, this proved to be a non-issue. After thirty seconds or so Kyle moaned, hefted himself up and moved between Stan's legs to suck him. He'd always been good at blow jobs, a natural, and Stan came after another half minute, his hand pushed into Kyle's hair.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked when Stan tried to return the favor.

"Uh," Stan said. "You want something else?"

"No," Kyle said, whining. "I really want your mouth on my dick, _God_, Stan. But, but. The baby. She's right there. It's like she's watching."

"Oh." He had a point, now that Stan thought of it. Kyle's stomach and dick were basically in the same place when he was hard, only the shirt he was still wearing separating them. "Ass, then?" Stan said, and Kyle looked like he would cry.

"I changed my mind," he said. "Get hard again and fuck me."

"Kay," Stan said, already on his way because of Kyle's demanding tone. He leaned forward to kiss Kyle, easing his shoulders down to the bed. Shelly was wrong; he wasn't being manipulated. He just really liked it when Kyle asked him for things he could give.

They both passed out immediately after sex, tangled around each other with the blankets only halfway covering them. This was how Sheila found them an hour or so later, and Stan woke to her exasperated shout.

"Don't you two have class?" she asked, looking away but still standing in the doorway.

"What time is it?" Kyle muttered. He was still lying on his side with his eyes closed as Stan blushed and rearranged the blankets.

"It's four thirty!" Sheila said. "Honestly, just - I hope you two get this out of your system in the coming weeks! Because once that baby's here you're not going to have this sort of privacy to lounge around together. Among other things."

"Maybe Stan's mother will be kind enough to babysit," Kyle said, sitting up and glowering at her. "Since she might be more interested in, you know, helping us out, as opposed to making sure we've learned our lesson about the consequences of unprotected sex."

"This ingratitude!" Sheila said, throwing her hands out. "After I just packed you a wonderful dinner to take to class!"

"Did you pack some for Stan, too?" Kyle asked.

"I didn't know Stan would be staying over all day!"

Stan was sort of relieved that things were back to normal between them. The post-fight politeness was always a little unnerving.

They ended up going to class, late, and Stan was surprised to see the others' cars all parked close to the front stairs. The only one missing was Token's Lexus.

"I can't believe it was only yesterday," Stan said as he took the stairs slowly, Kyle clutching at his arm. They passed the spot where Henrietta had sat sobbing, and Stan realized that her car was not among those in the lot. "I wonder why Henrietta was so upset?" Stan said. "I mean, we were all upset, but she really flipped out. It's not like her."

"Well, she's pregnant," Kyle said. "Hormones and whatnot. And she probably feels guilty."

"For what?"

"For being the only one of us who knows she's got a good chance of surviving." Kyle dodged Stan's eyes while he said so. "She might be the only one left in class in a week."

"Stop," Stan said. "You know, when you talk like that about the end of your life, you're talking about the end of mine, too."

"That's a terrible song lyric." Kyle still wouldn't look at him, but he was smiling a little.

"It's not - it's not a song! It's real life."

For some reason this made Kyle burst out laughing, and he hugged Stan to him apologetically when he huffed. Stan wanted to leave, to go home to his parents and bring Kyle with him. It had been a long day of Sheila Broflovski and Hell's Pass, and fucking Kyle had been a little tricky and unsatisfying, the baby too big now to be forgotten except at the very height of his pleasure.

The classroom was eerily quiet when they entered. Nobody had arranged the chairs into a circle. Butters gave them a sad little wave as they walked in, Kenny lifted his chin in tired acknowledgement, and Wendy stood to hug Stan. Cartman stayed seated, unbending a paperclip and looking defeated. Tweek and Craig were sitting together in back, away from the others.

"Bebe said you went to the hospital this morning," Wendy said.

"Yeah," Stan said. "Have you heard from her? Has anything-"

"No, nothing's changed," Wendy said, sighing. "They're keeping Clyde under while they determine if he needs heart surgery."

"Heart surgery?" Kyle grabbed Stan's arm, his eyes going wide. "Why?"

"There was damage - they didn't really understand how interconnected the womb was until it was out. I guess they thought they were saving him by taking it out after they delivered the baby, but now they think it really hurt him."

"Jesus," Stan said. He put his arm around Kyle and led him to the desk in the back that had once been their usual spot in study hall. Craig and Tweek were seated across the aisle. Tweek had his head on the desk, and he was moaning intermittently as Craig stroked his back, trying to calm him.

"What's wrong with him?" Kyle asked.

"What the hell do you think?" Craig asked. "He doesn't like the thought of me dying."

Tweek made a strangled sound and Craig sighed, leaning down onto his back and hugging his shoulders.

"Now children," Mr. Garrison said. He was seated the front of the room, looking nervous. "Let's not succumb to despair just yet. Maybe Clyde had some kind of disorder that the rest of you don't have."

"Yeah," Cartman said. "And maybe whatever fucked up biological mishap we caught didn't account for actual babies coming out."

"You can't start thinking like that," Wendy said. She dropped back into the seat beside Cartman and nuzzled at him. Cartman huffed and closed his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept.

"I'm gonna go see Token again after class," Kenny said. "Keep him company and stuff."

"I suppose I should go, too," Garrison said. He sounded slightly annoyed. "I don't do well around sick people."

"How's the baby doing?" Butters asked. "Still okay?"

"I don't know if 'okay' is the right word," Wendy said. "It's a very high-risk situation."

Everyone was quiet for a while. Garrison sighed.

"Should I drag a television cart in here and put on some Lifetime movies so we can all have a good cry?" he asked.

"No," Stan said, getting out of his chair. "No, I know what we should do."

"And what's that, Stanley?"

"Home Ec," Stan said. "Like, cooking. Like, like - we could all make some cookies to bring to Token and Clyde's parents! And Clyde, I guess, if he wakes up and can, um. Eat."

"Yeah!" Butters said, clapping his hands. "I can call my mom and get her oatmeal cookie recipe! It's real good."

"Ooh, also," Wendy said. "I've been researching organic baby food. We could try out some recipes! I know it won't be a concern for a while, since they'll be breastfeeding-"

"There's nothing wrong with bottle feeding," Craig said sharply.

"Of course," Wendy said. "But, you know. Breastfeeding helps you lose the weight."

"It had fucking better," Cartman mumbled, and Wendy rubbed his back.

"Is that true?" Craig asked. He looked at Kyle, who fidgeted self-consciously.

"It's rumored to be true," he said. "But until then, hey. Let's go make some cookies. I'm hungry."

"I thought we were making the cookies for Token?" Wendy said.

"Oh, fuck off," Kyle said. "I need a cookie, too."

Deciding on recipes to try was a pleasant distraction, and they planned out menus for the rest of the school week, which would be their last week ever in high school. Nobody mentioned a night school graduation ceremony. Stan wouldn't want one without Token and Clyde, and it didn't seem likely that they would be out of the hospital in a week. Stan volunteered to do the grocery run while the others tucked in for dinner. Kenny came with him.

"Everything okay?" Stan asked as they pulled out of the school's parking lot. Kenny had been quiet during the walk to the car.

"I hate the thought of him in Hell's Pass," Kenny said. "Especially if something goes wrong."

"Butters?"

"Yeah. And her, too, the baby. You weren't born in South Park, were you?"

"No," Stan said. "My parents moved here from California when I was two."

"That's right," Kenny said, muttering. "I knew that. Kyle moved down from New York a year later, right?"

"Right," Stan said. He still had a distinct memory of meeting Kyle in the Broflovski living room when his parents brought a bottle of wine to welcome Kyle's family to the neighborhood. Kyle had been a spoiled only child, and he didn't like sharing his toys. Stan was used to being forbidden from touching anything that Shelly wanted, which was generally anything Stan had the nerve to reach for, so he sat back quietly and let Kyle have his way, thinking him bossy. Eventually Kyle had seemed to feel guilty about how he was acting and Stan's quiet obedience. He put a firetruck in Stan's hands and told him, gravely and with a hint of apology, that this was his _favorite_. He'd instructed Stan to play with it when Stan only sat there holding it very carefully.

"Me and Butters were both born in Hell's Pass," Kenny said.

"Yeah?" Stan said, not sure where Kenny was going with this. He turned on the radio when Kenny said nothing more, just staring out the window with his arms crossed over his chest. "Did you see the baby?" Stan asked after they'd been driving for a while, listening to something generic on the classic rock station. "When you were at the hospital?"

"No," Kenny said. "I felt like I didn't have the right to, you know?"

"Yeah," Stan said, because a three pound infant did seem like a private thing. "I was scared Token would ask if I wanted to, you know. See him."

"I'm scared about everything at this point," Kenny said. "Every time Butters takes a breath, I'm scared it'll come out as a scream instead of an exhale."

Stan reached over to squeeze Kenny's knee. "I know," he said. "But I still think we're all gonna be okay. Even Clyde and his baby."

"You're good at that," Kenny said. "Thinking things will be okay."

"Somebody's got to," Stan said, his voice wavering a little.

"I remember when you were a cynic," Kenny said. "What changed?"

Stan shrugged. "One of my therapists told me that cynics are the people who expect the most from the world because they want so badly to love it," Stan said. "For it to be worthy of, like. How much they have to give, or something. I think it was just the way Kyle smiled at me this one day, even before we'd kissed, when we were thirteen. It was like, if he was in the world, smiling like that, smiling _at me_ like that, I loved it again. I wanted something again, you know? Enough to want to be alive. I wanted to give him everything I had."

"Including and especially your dick," Kenny said. "Did you pop a boner?"

Stan snorted as if this was ridiculous. He had, actually. The boner was part of his epiphany.

They did the shopping for the whole week's worth of 'cooking lessons,' and it was still under two hundred bucks. Everyone had chipped in before they left, and Stan felt weird giving the girl at the register so much cash.

"I wish we could all move into a little commune together," Kenny said as they carried the bags to the car. "Plan all our meals together, that sort of thing. Pool our resources."

"It'd be nice," Stan said, to placate Kenny, but the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea. They could trade off babysitting shifts, have dinner at a big table full of laughter and babbling kids, no parents around to condescend to them. He imagined them all living in the school at night, secretly, showering in the locker rooms and cooking in the Home Ec kitchen. It felt like what they'd been doing for the past few months anyway: hiding together, keeping each other safe.

The rest of class was fairly enjoyable, but at moments, when he was laughing with the others, Stan would think of Clyde and feel terrible. He monitored Kyle's sugar intake and kept close to him, absently rubbing his neck and his back. Everyone seemed to be a bit more clingy than normal, especially Kenny, who not only clung to Butters but kept pausing to hug Stan, Kyle, and Wendy.

"Get your hands off of her, bitch," Cartman said when he noticed this.

"Oh, sorry, are you feeling left out?" Kenny said, approaching Cartman with his arms outstretched. Cartman grunted and smacked at Kenny's hands with a batter-covered spoon. Everyone laughed, and Stan felt okay for maybe ten seconds, then he made himself remember Clyde's heart damage. His own heart felt heavier every time he thought of it, and of Token in the waiting room, sleepless and fuzzed over with grief.

They made a care package for Kenny to take to the hospital and said their goodbyes in the parking lot around nine, an hour before class was scheduled to end. Everyone was fairly exhausted, and Stan was dreading Kyle's answer when he asked him where he'd like to sleep, afraid that he'd want to go to his parents' house. As novel as it had been to return to Kyle's bed, Stan was craving more familiar surroundings, his family's non-educational lineup of post-dinner TV, and the comforting sound of his mother's voice from other rooms.

"We can go to your place," Kyle said, surprising him. "I think - we'll live there, won't we? With Elway? If everything turns out okay?"

"Fine with me," Stan said. "You won't miss your mom?"

"I'll miss her," Kyle said. He reached over to brush his thumb across Stan's cheek. "But I think you'd miss yours more. And Shelly's got a better chance of moving out and leaving us her room as a nursery than Ike does, at least for a few years."

Shelly was very firmly still in residence in the meantime, her girly products lined up on the bathroom counter and a bra drying over the shower rod, dripping menacingly onto the rim of the tub. Stan noticed Kyle eying it while they were brushing their teeth.

"I'll ask her not to leave her underwear around," Stan said, though he doubted that would go over well.

"Stan?" Kyle said, softly, watching as Stan rinsed his toothbrush off.

"Hmm?" Stan touched the small of Kyle's back. The size of his stomach kept him from fully leaning over to spit, and he tended to get toothpaste all over the mirror. "What's wrong?"

"Ah-" Kyle said. He winced, and Stan went feet-first into instant, icy terror, up to his waist in it before Kyle turned and gave him a sheepish look. "I think I need a bra," he said, whispering this.

"Oh - oh." Stan rubbed Kyle's back, not sure what to say. Kyle's chest had been a little plumper recently, but so had everything else. "Um-"

"They're starting to hurt," Kyle said. He looked like he would cry. "God, this is so humiliating. I'm not going to go and try one on, um. Shelly's kind of flat, so maybe she has some old ones I could have?" He rushed that out, and Stan got the feeling he'd been thinking about asking for some time.

"Of course," Stan said, queasy at the prospect of Kyle in one of his sister's ratty old bras. He tried to hide his horror, nodding. "I'll ask her."

"Don't you think you could just steal one?" Kyle asked, looking at Stan with big, pleading eyes, as if he was begging for another life-saving organ. "To spare me the humiliation of her knowing? She'd tell your mom, Stan, and then _Randy_ would know, and he'd tell Jimbo, and pretty soon the whole town will be talking about Kyle's big, aching tits."

"They're not that big," Stan said, touching one. Kyle moved away, frowning. "No, I just mean - they're so cute. But if they're hurting you, yeah. We'll get you some support."

"Don't even think about going to Wall-Mart or something," Kyle said. "Everyone would know who you were buying it for."

"I just had a great idea!" Stan said, pretending to be more cheerful about this than he was. As much as he liked those soft little pillows on Kyle's chest, there was something grotesque about the idea of Kyle in a bra. "We could order one online."

"I can't wait that long!" Kyle said. "I need one, like, now, Stan! I'm fantasizing about stealing that one right there, Jesus."

"They hurt that bad?" Stan asked, feeling horrible.

"Just in the past few days." Kyle sniffled. "I didn't want to tell you."

"How come?" Stan pulled Kyle against him, hugging him from behind. He wanted more than ever to grab one of Kyle's tits and massage it, but he restrained himself.

"Because - I don't know. I thought I was just bloated from eating too much or something. But I feel like they get bigger every day, and I know they don't look big, but they feel so goddamn _heavy_ - Stan!" Kyle moved away, gaping at him.

"What?" Stan asked, though he could guess.

"You're getting a fucking boner!"

"I'm sorry, dude, I-"

"You're getting off on me being in pain!"

"No!" Stan said, and he was sincere. "It's just, just. The idea, um. That they're all tender or something. Shit, don't look at me like that. It's like after I fuck you and I rub around, you know. Down there. Where you're a little sore."

"Fuck, now you're making me hard," Kyle said, mumbling. He whined and closed his eyes. "That's another thing. I keep getting random boners. It's like I'm twelve again."

"Let's go to bed," Stan said, reaching for him. "It's been a long fucking day. We can beat off together in the dark, like old times."

"It won't be like old times for me," Kyle said as Stan eased the toothbrush from his hand. "I have to reach around our daughter to access my dick."

"Dude," Stan said, though he was more touched by the fact that Kyle had referred to his pregnant stomach as their daughter than disgusted by the rest of that sentiment. "I'll do you, then," Stan said as they crossed the hallway. "You can just put your hands behind your head and relax."

"Is Shelly in her room?" Kyle asked, whispering and craning his neck. "Fuck, her door's closed."

"I'll steal a bra for you tomorrow, sweetheart," Stan said. "C'mon, you're sleepy."

"You called me sweetheart," Kyle said, mumbling this as he dropped into bed. "Is it because I'm asking you for a bra?"

"No," Stan said. He wasn't sure where that had come from, really. It had seemed more appropriate than 'dude' in the moment. "It's 'cause you're my sweetheart, I guess," he said, folding himself against Kyle's side. Kyle snorted and scooted a little closer, letting Stan rub his belly.

"Still want to beat off?" Kyle asked.

"Nah," Stan said, his thoughts already getting slippery and nonsensical as sleep tried to close over him. "You?"

"Mmn, no, I think the moment's passed."

Stan had terrible dreams all night long. In most of them he reached for his phone to read a new text and found one from Wendy:_ Clyde is dead :(_

The frowny face attached to that sentiment was something she would never do, but Stan woke up terrified every time, his certainty that the last dream had been real fading as he absorbed the comfort of Kyle's body heat. After bracing himself, he would check his phone, his hand shaking until he saw that he had no new messages, only the last one from Kenny:

_at hospital. token thx us for cookies. everybody still breathing_


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N:** This story continues to take me off guard in terms of what happens in which chapter - I always think I can do more with each segment, but the natural breaks in the action end up falling in places where I hadn't planned them. Next chapter might be pretty long! Thanks for reading, guys. :)

* * *

><p>Stan was able to get a full time position at the twenty-four hour pharmacy a week after the normal kids at Park County High walked across a stage on the football field and accepted their diplomas. His own diploma had been mailed to the house, and it was still in its green and white tube. Sheila had rushed to have Kyle's framed the day after it arrived, because, according to her, it was an important symbol that should be treated with respect.<p>

Two hours into his first shift at the new pharmacy, Stan got three text messages almost simultaneously. He finished ringing up the skate punk who had come in for a Double Dew and turned his back on the register as he fished his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking. One of the messages was from Kyle, and Stan discreetly kissed the screen of his phone when he saw this. If Kyle was well enough to text, he was still okay. He opened Kyle's first:

_Clyde is awake and stable_

The messages from Kenny and Wendy said the same. Clyde had undergone heart surgery, and there had been some sort of infection during recovery. For a few days everyone had braced themselves for the worst. Stan stared down at his phone as the love song from _Karate Kid_ played overhead on the store's speaker system. He tried to imagine what Clyde would be feeling when he woke up, and couldn't. Clyde's baby was still in an incubator, tiny and motionless. Last time Stan had stopped by the hospital Token said that was the hardest part of seeing his son in that clear plastic box. The baby had gained a little weight, but he didn't open his eyes or move except to breathe with the help of the respirator.

If it hadn't been his first night on the job, Stan would have called Kyle right away. The manager was probably watching from the room with mirrored glass that looked over the store, so Stan sent Kyle a text that said _thank god_ and slipped his phone back in his pocket. He didn't touch his phone again until his dinner break, which was at two o'clock in the morning, midway through his shift.

"Did I wake you?" Stan asked. He was sitting at a sticky table in the otherwise empty break room, which smelled like cigarettes and tuna.

"You know I can't sleep when you're not here," Kyle said.

"Sorry dude," Stan said, his voice thick with peanut butter from his sandwich.

"Don't be sorry," Kyle said. "Isn't it good news about Clyde? Kenny is there with them. He seems to be there constantly. I guess since he can't be with Butters, it gives him something to do."

"So Kenny talked to Clyde?"

"No, he hasn't been allowed to yet. Just Token and Clyde's dad are in there, apparently. I'm so glad he's okay, Stan." Kyle sounded like he might cry. Stan wanted to be in bed with him so badly that his stomach tightened up and he had to put his sandwich down.

"I know," Stan said. "I'm so fucking relieved, Jesus. And the baby's okay?"

"He's okay-ish," Kyle said. "It's gonna be a battle, I heard. For like a year, they'll always have to be worried. Preemies have underdeveloped immune systems."

"Right," Stan said, his queasiness increasing. Elway was still healthy according to Terrell's daily exams, but Stan had been reading about premature labor, and apparently having diabetes was a risk factor. He'd asked Terrell about this, reminding him that Clyde had developed gestational diabetes, and Terrell promised that he'd taken that into account. He'd put Kyle on steroids to help the baby's lungs develop faster, just in case.

"How's the job going?" Kyle asked.

"Same as the old one," Stan said.

"Oh. Well. You're not the only one in the store, are you?"

"No, the night manager's here. Pharmacist comes in at six."

"God," Kyle said. "It must be so boring."

"It's not that bad. I've got internet access on the computer at the register. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Kyle said, and the tremendous sigh he blew out undermined this. "Just achy. And I can't stop eating, you know, even when I'm not hungry. I keep thinking that for everything I don't eat, it's that's much less that she'll weigh when she's born."

"Just don't make yourself sick," Stan said.

"It's not like I'm stuffing myself until I puke," Kyle said, a little sharply.

"I know," Stan said. "How's, um. Your tank working out?"

"Still good," Kyle said. In lieu of stealing bras from Shelly, Stan had asked Wendy for some of her old tanks with bras built in. This allowed Kyle to maintain a certain amount of dignity, and the tanks were small enough to be concealed beneath his shirts. Stan found the tanks strangely hot, stretched out around Kyle's tits and over the top of his stomach, clinging and tight. His favorite was a white one with little red strawberries on it. Kyle almost never let Stan get a glimpse of them, accusing him of fetishizing Wendy, though Stan had never noticed them when Wendy wore them.

"I miss you," Stan said. Kyle laughed.

"You just left here five hours ago. But, I know. I miss you, too."

They'd been clingy since the start of the pregnancy and before that, too, but since Clyde had been rushed to the hospital they had reached whole new levels of codependence. If Kyle had to get up and pee in the middle of the night - which he frequently did, at least three times - Stan went with him, not wanting him to trip or stumble in the dark, and if Kyle was particularly out of it he'd let Stan hold his dick for him. Being at work for ten hours at a time was excruciating, and by the time Stan's shift ended he was jogging toward the parking lot.

Kyle was awake but in bed when Stan got home, wearing Stan's boxers and a green tank that could barely contain him. It was almost June, starting to get warmer outside, and Kyle was consistently overheated. Stan moaned when he sat on the bed and felt the temperature of Kyle's skin.

"I had a dream that I was sucking on my own fingers," Kyle said. He seemed miserable, shuffling around restlessly as Stan undressed. "Either that or I really was sucking on them while I slept."

"You can suck on mine," Stan said. Weirdly, Kyle wanted to, and did. He fell asleep after about three minutes of this, and Stan left his fingers in Kyle's mouth as he drifted off beside him, too tired to feel aroused by this sucking development.

Clyde wasn't fit to have visitors for a few days, but Wendy was already making plans for everyone to stop in and see him. Stan went alone on the appointed day, because Terrell had confirmed that Sheila's paranoia about exposing Kyle to germs was legitimate. Cartman also stayed home, likely out of laziness as much as concern for his health. Craig was the only pregnant person in attendance.

"Where's Tweek?" Stan asked as Wendy pulled her mother's van out of Craig's driveway.

"Tweek doesn't do hospitals," Craig said.

"What's he going to do when you deliver your baby?" Kenny asked.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Craig said. "Tweek will probably cross it with a knit blanket over his head, and then he'll faint."

"Has anyone heard from Henrietta?" Stan asked.

"Why the hell would we have heard from her?" Craig asked. "It's not like we're friends with her."

"She missed the last week of night school," Wendy said. "Stan and I were a little concerned."

"Oh, were you?" Craig said, smirking. "You're lucky your little lady isn't here, Marsh. He wouldn't like to hear that you're worrying jointly with another woman."

"Shut up," Kenny said. "I was wondering about that, too. She's weird and kind of full of herself, but she cared about us, I think. You guys saw how she got when Clyde went down."

"Don't call it 'going down,'" Wendy said, giving Kenny a look in the rear view mirror. "Especially now that he's finally - up again."

Clyde wasn't exactly up. He was still bedridden and he looked very weak, at least fifteen pounds lighter than he'd been when he collapsed in class. Stan felt stupid holding a fuzzy stuffed bear in the face of Clyde's wrecked appearance. Clyde smiled weakly and reached for Token, who took his hand. There were still IV tubes running into Clyde's arms, but he was breathing on his own.

"Hey guys," Clyde said. His voice wasn't as scratchy as Stan had expected, which was a relief.

"How are you?" Wendy asked, gently. She had brought flowers, a big bouquet of orange-pink peonies. Kenny had a stack of comic books, and Craig had a knit blanket, presumably handmade by Tweek.

"I'm okay," Clyde said. "I wish they'd bring Nicky in here."

"That's your baby's name?" Kenny said.

"Yeah, Nicholas Donovan Black," Token said, reaching over to smooth some hair from Clyde's forehead. Clyde looked up at him with dazed fondness, as if just realizing that Token was there.

"That's really cute," Wendy said. "Nicholas Black - sounds like a Dickens character. In a good way! Um, how's he doing?"

"He's hanging in there," Token said. "Gaining some weight. And he opened his eyes the other day, just a little."

"I wish I had been there," Clyde said, tearing up. "They wheeled me into the NICU to see him one time, and that's it. One time."

"You'll be able to get in a wheelchair soon," Token said, petting Clyde's hair again. "He's still pretty zoned out most of the time," Token said to the others. "From painkillers and stuff."

"I'm not that zoned out," Clyde said, but he was mumbling as if he might fall asleep mid-sentence.

"What have they got you on?" Kenny asked, walking over to examine the IV drip. "Morphine? Fentanyl?"

"I don't know, man," Clyde said. "But it's working. I can't feel much."

"We were so scared for you," Wendy said. She went to Clyde's bed and laid a hand on his blanket-covered ankle. "That day in class."

"It must have hurt really bad," Craig said, a little loudly. He was hanging back, still lingering near the door, Tweek's blanket hugged over his chest. "That day," he muttered when everyone stared at him.

"I thought I was gonna die," Clyde said. "Token said I was spitting up blood? I don't even remember that. I don't think I even knew where I was by the time they were putting me in the ambulance."

"What did it feel like at first?" Stan asked. He was hoping there had been some kind of warning sign the night before, mild discomfort that was shrugged off.

"At first?" Clyde said. "At first I thought it was the baby moving. Then it was like, does the baby have a knife? It was this stabbing pain."

They could only stay and talk to Clyde for ten minutes before nurses started coming in and Clyde started falling asleep. Craig surprised everyone by walking over to the bed and carefully arranging the blanket around Clyde's shoulders before leaving.

"This is from Tweek," he said. "And me, I guess," he added, mumbling. Clyde smiled up at him and Craig leaned down to touch his forehead to Clyde's, closing his eyes. Stan thought he heard Craig whisper something like, "Don't die, butthead."

"Kay," Clyde said, and then the nurses shooed everyone but Token out.

Token and Clyde's parents were in the waiting room, and everyone exchanged awkward dialogue for a bit, Stan mostly speaking with Clyde's father. Apparently Clyde and the baby would both be in the hospital for at least another six weeks, probably longer.

"I hope you kids will continue to visit him once he's a little more lucid," Mr. Donovan said. He was haggard and unshaven, his eyes red and the tip of his nose chafed and sore-looking. "I suppose you'll all be in here yourselves soon enough," he said, glancing down at Craig's huge stomach. "Hopefully under better circumstances."

Everyone was quiet on the drive back. Craig was dropped off first, and he exited the van without saying anything. Stan glanced into the backseat and saw Kenny chewing on his thumbnail, staring out the window.

"How's Butters?" Stan asked.

"Wouldn't know," Kenny said.

"I'll go visit him later," Wendy promised, trying to meet Kenny's eyes in the rear view mirror. "His parents like me," she said. Stan gave her a look and she winced. "I mean, um. They don't see me as a threat, you know, because - because I'm a girl. Anyway, I'll give you a report."

Kenny said nothing, but he leaned into the front seat to hug both of them before getting out of the car.

"Give this to Kyle for me," he said, and he kissed Stan's cheek. "And this is for Cartman," he said, licking Wendy's ear. She laughed and shoved him away. He was smiling when he turned back to wave as he headed for his parents' house, but it was a kind of mirthless, tired thing.

"What the fuck is going to happen?" Stan asked, about nothing in particular. Wendy sighed.

"Let's just be grateful that Clyde's okay," she said. "And his baby, too. Clyde and Token seemed alright, don't you think? Togetherness-wise?"

"They seemed delirious," Stan said, and Wendy didn't argue that.

The end of May blurred into June. Spring had melted off more easily than it usually did, and the weather was quickly beautiful. If things were normal, Stan would be outside in his spare time, taking long walks with Kyle while they planned for their move up to Fort Collins. As it was, Stan missed most of the nice weather, sleeping all day with Kyle tossing and turning at his side. Terrell had put him on bed rest, and Kyle claimed to hate it, but he didn't have the energy to do anything but roll over and be nuzzled at sleepily by Stan, who wasn't much more energetic than Kyle. The forty hour work week was draining, and working night shifts exclusively was fucking with his sense of time. Sleep tended to take him quickly and buck him back out like a rejected organ, a sense of overdue panic making him jerk awake and grope for Kyle.

"You okay?" Stan asked almost every time he woke. Kyle would be lying there on his back, sweating and staring blearily at the ceiling. The whole bed, and Kyle, had taken on an unfamiliar, vaguely yogurt-like smell.

"I am fully an incubator now," Kyle said one evening, five hours until Stan's shift. "The transformation is complete."

"Shh," Stan said. He got up, still tired, and fetched a cool washcloth for Kyle's forehead. Terrell said the increase in temperature was normal, and so were the headaches, back pain, inability to concentrate on anything, and general exhaustion.

"This is death," Kyle said while Stan mopped at his forehead. "I can feel it."

"Don't joke about that," Stan said.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Kyle glowered at him. "I'm - this - it's meh - what's that word? With the cockroach?"

"Huh?"

"The Kafka book!"

"Oh. Metamorphosis?"

"Right." Kyle closed his eyes. "I'm a cockroach. No, they're more mobile than this. I've reverted to a larval stage."

"You were never a larva," Stan said. His head was swimming, and he was overheated, too, from being pressed up against Kyle while they slept. "You're a parent. This parenthood."

"This is slavery," Kyle said, mumbling.

"You'll be glad to be her slave once you see her, I bet."

Kyle snorted and rubbed at his stomach. Elway was more cognizant now, according to Terrell, and she responded to their routine, sleeping when they did and moving around when Kyle propped himself up to eat or stare listlessly at a movie on Stan's laptop. Stan had been impatient to meet her for months, but now he just wanted her to stay put for as long as possible, until she was big enough to be in their arms instead of an incubator. Clyde's baby was still residing in one, and apparently there were hopeful moments and setbacks, one after the other, nonstop. Token said he felt seasick all the time. Clyde had mostly gotten quiet during Stan's visits to the hospital, and sometimes when he fell asleep Stan thought he was faking it.

Stan was on his way to work on a Saturday night when he got an unexpected phone call. He grabbed for his phone, not planning on answering unless it was his mother or Kyle. He was surprised to see Henrietta Biggle's name on the screen. He had left her a message weeks ago, just wanting to see how she was doing, and he thought she must have had her baby already and been overwhelmed by the experience. That, or she just didn't want to talk to him.

"Hello?" Stan said. He was at a stop sign, no one else around. There was panting on the other end of the line.

"Stan?"

"Yeah, I'm here. What's wrong?"

"Ah - I didn't - I tried to call Wren, but he's not, he's not answering - oh, fuck!" Stan heard something in the background, a booming sound.

"Where are you?" Stan asked, heart rate spiking. "What's going on?"

"I'm at my house," she said. "My mom's not home - oh, shit, please, no!"

"What's going on?" Stan asked. He'd already turned the car around. He remembered where Henrietta lived from dropping her off there last time he'd seen her, and from attending Bradley's birthday parties as a kid.

"He's come back," Henrietta said, sobbing. "He's found out I'm still pregnant- he, oh, Jesus!" There was another boom, something apocalyptic and echoing, and Stan thought he could hear it in real life, too, in the distance. "I did some protective spells on the house, but he's really powerful, please, you have to help me, he's going to get in-"

"Who, Henrietta?" Stan asked. "I'll call the police, just hang on-"

She screamed and the line went dead. Stan realized why when he felt his phone get incredibly hot. He shouted and tossed it into the passenger seat as it started to melt in his hand, smoke pouring out from around the screen as it cracked in three places. A smell of rotten eggs clouded the car so thickly that Stan had to put the windows down to keep from gagging. His eyes were watering from the sting of that smell by the time he parked haphazardly on the street outside of Henrietta's house. From the street, he could see that the front door had been torn off of its hinges. It was lying in the front yard, broken in half.

Only after he'd bolted into Henrietta's house at full speed and begun choking on the smell of rotten eggs again did Stan consider that he probably should have waited for the police. Then he remembered that he hadn't actually called them, because his phone had melted.

"Henrietta?" Stan called. He hurried in through the foyer, which was littered with the splinters of what may have once been a side table. There was an odd _twunk, twunk_ sound coming from the back of the house, like someone pounding his fists into an inflatable swim raft. The door to one of the bedrooms in back had also been torn off and demolished, and both the _twunk_ sound and the rotten egg smell were emanating from within. Stan stood in the hallway, terrified, until he saw what was going on inside. Then he was just enraged enough not to think: there was a man trying to hit Henrietta, who was still pregnant, almost the full forty weeks along. She was cowering on the floor inside some kind of mostly translucent bubble that the man, dark-haired and tall, was trying to destroy. Stan ran at him and clocked him in the side of the head, stale football field adrenaline pumping back into his blood, amplified by a thousand. The man turned to him, snarling, and Stan tried to hit him again, but before he could connect something seemed to grab him around the waist and yank him backward, a force that felt as if it could crush every bone in his body with one hard push pinning him against the wall.

"Stop!" Henrietta shrieked, her voice muffled by the bubble-like thing around her.

"Who the hell is this?" the man asked, turning back to her.

"I'm her friend!" Stan answered, surprised that he could still talk. He felt pressure on his lungs, his muscles, everywhere, and his feet had left the floor, something invisible holding him up on the wall. "What the fuck are you? Leave her alone!"

"She's got something that belongs to me," the man said. His eyes seemed to glow, backlit with flames, as if there was a jack-o-lantern candle flickering in his skull.

"Damien, you don't have to worry!" Henrietta said. "The baby won't come after you, I promise-"

"You don't know what that creature you're incubating is capable of!" Damien said, rounding on her. "You're a mortal who can't be trusted with even the barest amount of power. Look what you've done already, to your _friends_."

"It was supposed to be a joke," Henrietta said, sobbing. "We didn't really think it would work!" She looked at Stan, who was trying to move, succeeding only at making his shoulders twitch.

"He's one of them, isn't he?" Damien asked. He smirked and turned to Stan. "I don't think you'd be so quick to defend her if you knew what she did to your lover."

For a moment Stan didn't even register the fact that he was referring to Kyle; Stan had never thought of him as a lover.

"I'm sorry," Henrietta cried. "I'm so sorry, Stan, I didn't know-"

"She knew," Damien said, snarling. "She wanted revenge - on me, on you, on _men_, and for what? For not wanting to fuck her? She's pathetic."

"What's wrong with Kyle?" Stan asked. "What happened?" He'd just left Kyle asleep in bed ten minutes ago, promising to bring him salted almonds when he returned.

"Are you joking?" Damien raised his eyebrows, and Stan recognized him, slowly, as the kid who had lived in South Park when they were eight. Satan's son. Stan's eyes darted to Henrietta's, and the pressure on his lungs seemed to increase, making it harder to breathe. Henrietta was crying into her hands, shaking her head.

"The - that's how-?" Stan thought of leaving Bebe's party that night, seeing Henrietta smoking outside with her friends. "The pregnant boys - you did this?"

"That's right," Damien said. "She borrowed - _stole_ - my powers to play a joke on you and your friends. Listen, brother - as someone who has come to appreciate the simpler pleasures of a tight ass, I sympathize. Now leave me to deal with her."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Henrietta wailed. The bubble around her flickered and seemed to weaken. Damien pounded his fist against it and smirked when cracks splintered across the surface.

"What's going to happen to Kyle?" Stan asked, not sure which of them he was asking. "To El- to the baby? And the others, will it be like Clyde?"

"Don't look at me," Damien said. "Henrietta and her fey little lackey are the ones who basically invented the spell. I can't promise that your children won't come out with horns and forked tails, and neither can she, I expect." He hit the bubble again, and sparks blasted out beneath his fist as the cracks deepened.

"What are you going to do to her?" Stan asked. Henrietta was huddled around her stomach, bent forward with her palms pressed to her eyes. "You can't hurt her!"

"She'll be fine," Damien said. "I'll even erase her memory, because I'm such a caring soul. But she's not going to be the guardian of the only person who could vanquish me. I never thought she'd be stupid enough to try." Another blow to the bubble made the top crumble in, chunks of it evaporating as they fell away.

"You're going to kill her baby?" Stan struggled against the wall, his heart slamming. "No, you can't - why-"

"It's my baby," Damien said. "I didn't know I was capable of creating life with a human, but here we are. I think killing it would be unwise at this juncture, but I want it down in hell with me and Father, where we can keep an eye on it."

"No, please!" Henrietta peeked at him through her fingers. "He's a human, he's normal, I've seen him on a monitor-"

"He's hardly normal," Damien said. He reached into the bubble and grabbed for Henrietta, who backed away. When Damien's forearm brushed against the jagged edge of the caved-in bubble he hissed and pulled away, smoke billowing off his burned skin.

"Please, just let me keep him up here," Henrietta said. She was clutching at her stomach, her hair matted to her wet cheeks. She looked feral and wind-beaten, desperate. Stan tried to move and could only make his thumbs work. "You can monitor him from down there," Henrietta said as Damien pounded the bubble with his fist again. "You'll know that I'm raising him to be normal, not to hunt you-"

"You're a liar, and I'm not a fool," Damien said. "And our son will never be normal. Look what he had the power to do even when he's just a cluster of cells inside his mother."

"That was me and Wren who did that," Henrietta said. "Maybe he helped, but - what was evil and cruel about that spell, that was us, not him." She looked at Stan and shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't want that to happen to Clyde, and I didn't want to hurt Kyle, I - maybe I thought I wanted to make him suffer, but not like that, not with pain like that-"

"Stop insulting our intelligence with your treachery," Damien said. "Take down this pathetic shield and save yourself the energy - you've lost. You were never a match for me."

"I know that!" Henrietta shouted. "It's not me making the shield, it's him! Your son doesn't want to live in hell. Please, I know you hated it-"

"You know nothing about me!" Damien said, his eyes turning fully red. He growled and slammed the bubble hard, destroying what remained of it in a flash of purple static.

"Stop!" Stan shouted as Damien moved toward Henrietta. "Don't hurt her!" The feeling of not being able to move as he watched a pregnant woman be attacked was making his entire immobile body burn with rage, and there was a sharper, though perhaps less urgent fear jabbing at his stomach. It was the thought that all of this could mean Kyle and Elway were in danger, too.

"Halt, hellbeast!"

For a moment Stan thought he had screamed this himself, insane with futile anger as he watched Damien put his hands around Henrietta's throat, but it wasn't Stan, it was a boy who was standing in the doorway, holding a rusted metal cross and flicking his black hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his chin. It was Wren Cleveland, the dorky kid who Henrietta had hung around with before she was shuffled off to night school.

"What the hell is this?" Damien asked. He flicked his hand in Wren's direction and seemed surprised when nothing happened. Wren walked forward with the cross, and when he passed by Stan the pressure that had glued him to the wall disappeared. Stan fell to the ground with a yelp and got to his feet, bracing his hands against the wall when his legs wobbled.

"I've cast protective charms on myself," Wren said when Damien tried to throw curses at him, grunting as little fireballs died on his palm, transforming into pungent smoke. "Don't try to come any closer."

"What the hell are you?" Damien asked. "You're human, you shouldn't-"

"I am human," Wren said, walking closer. "That doesn't mean I'm not smarter than you, asshole."

"Careful!" Henrietta shouted when Wren moved closer to Damien. Stan scrambled over to her, and Wren stepped between them when Damien moved to strike.

"You can't hurt them," Wren said. He pushed the cross toward Damien's face and Damien backed away, hissing, his eyes flashing red again. "I've been researching half demons ever since you two started fucking. I know plenty about your weaknesses."

"You don't know shit, you limp-wristed bitch!" Damien moved toward him and cringed away again, lifting his arm to cover his face.

"Then come over here and get me," Wren said, as flatly as if he was answering a question in calculus.

"Just get out of here, Damien!" Henrietta said. She was shaking in Stan's arms, overheated and enormous, one arm hugged around her stomach. "We don't want anything to do with you! Go back and rule hell or whatever. Nobody in South Park gives a shit. Least of all me and my kid, you worthless fucking asshole."

"I didn't want the stupid thing anyway," Damien said, muttering, his eyes narrowed at Wren. He hissed one last time and disappeared, black dust floating in the space where he'd stood.

"Where'd he go?" Stan asked, feeling slower than everyone in the room, and increasingly angry with all of them.

"Back to hell," Wren said, dropping to his knees. "He's all talk, Henry, you can't let him get to you."

"He pinned Stan to the wall in midair!" Henrietta said, throwing her arm out. "Stan - I'm so sorry-"

"He was only able to do that because _Stan_ didn't have one of these," Wren said. He set the cross down and reached into his pocket for a little satchel tied with string. "It's ground bone of sacred cow, some black widow venom, rosemary-"

"Excuse me?" Stan said, getting up, his legs still shaking. "What the fuck is this? Why was that kid back here?"

"He's the father of my baby," Henrietta said. "I kinda thought it would be cool to fuck a demon or whatever." She sniffled and pushed some of her damp hair off her face. "It totally wasn't."

"You two made everybody pregnant?" Stan said.

"Uh, yeah," Wren said. "I mean, I guess we didn't really expect it to work. Henry - you're really sweaty."

"Yeah, I feel like shit," she said. "I've been having cramps - Stan, I'm so sorry, I didn't think this through. It was just - he'd ditched me, and I was so angry, and stupid-"

"What's going to happen to Kyle?" Stan asked, staring to hyperventilate. "Is that Damien guy going to come for our baby, too?"

"No, I'm going to seal him into hell," Wren said, waving his hand through the air. "It's kind of a complicated ritual, but I've got most of the stuff already." He glanced at Henrietta. "You're gonna have to circumcise junior," he said.

"What?" Henrietta was still breathing hard, dripping sweat. "Why?"

"Uh, the foreskin of the first son born to a human mother is the final ingredient in the seal."

"Okay, fuck this," Stan said, heading for the door. "You people are fucking crazy!"

"Oh, why, because we're talking about make believe, fairy tale stuff?" Wren rolled his eyes. "Tell that to your kid when he's born. It's pretty real, dumb ass. You'd think someone who grew up in this fucking town would know."

Stan started to protest, but Henrietta shouted before he could speak. She rocked forward onto her knees, and for a moment Stan thought she'd peed out of fear, but the stuff was still coming, and it didn't look like pee.

"Shit," Wren said, cradling her. "Your, uh. Water."

"Jesus, what did he do to me?" Henrietta asked. She cried out again and struck the floor with her fist. "Ow, fuck, ow!"

"Dude, call an ambulance!" Stan said to Wren. He shook his head and tried to help Henrietta up.

"Damien melted my phone after she called me for help," he said. "Do you have one on you?"

"No, he did the same to mine. Henrietta, the land line?"

"Fuck it, there's no need to wait for an ambulance," Wren said. He got Henrietta to her feet, but she shouted in pain and dropped back onto her knees again after two steps. "This is normal labor, Henry," Wren said, pushing her hair out of her face. "I think. It's just contractions. I'll drive you to the hospital - have you packed your bag?"

"It's under my bed," she said, panting. "Shit, Wren, haa-"

"You get the bag," Stan said when Wren tried to help her up again. "I'll carry her to your car."

"Fine." Wren did the hair flip, looking at Stan disdainfully. "Wouldn't want to deprive you of the chance to act like a conformist jock quarterback who saves the day."

"Shut the fuck up, Wren!" Henrietta screamed as Stan hoisted her up into his arms.

"Seriously, dude," Stan said. He felt weak from Damien's attack and Henrietta had to be close to two hundred pounds, but she held on tight and he managed to get her into the passenger seat of Wren's Volvo.

"Okay," Wren said, throwing Henrietta's bag into the backseat before climbing into the car. "You alright?" he asked, touching her leg.

"I don't know." She looked at Stan. "How is Clyde?" she asked, breathless. "My mom called his dad, he said he's doing okay, but still-"

"Dude, go have your baby," Stan said. "Clyde's okay. Nobody wants anything bad to happen to you," he added, though he was still angry. She blinked out some tears and looked down at her stomach.

"I never thought," she said, "I wasn't thinking, when I-"

"Okay, enough apologizing," Wren said. "Now's not the time." He started the car and put it in drive, flicking his head at Stan to indicate that he should get out of the way. Stan helped Henrietta buckle her seat belt, and he touched her head before shutting the door.

"Good luck," he said as she rolled down the window, staring at him while Wren backed the car out of the driveway.

"To Kyle, too!" she shouted, and then they were gone, speeding toward Hell's Pass.

Stan stood in Henrietta's front yard for a few minutes, still catching his breath. Henrietta's mother was a nurse at Hell's Pass, and Stan hoped she was still on shift and not on her way home to find her house partially blasted apart and her pregnant daughter missing. Stan was late for his own shift, but he felt too shaken to drive to work. His manager did not yet know that Stan was the partner of one of the pregnant boys, but Stan thought he might have to tell him now, as an excuse for being late. First he needed to go home and change into pants that weren't stained with amniotic fluid.

The car still reeked of sulfur, and Stan's cell phone had cooled off but was firmly melted onto the passenger seat. Stan cursed under his breath, because he could shower to get the smell off of his skin and hair, but he had no idea how he would get the stink out of the car. He supposed he could have it professionally cleaned, which would be expensive. Replacing his phone would be, too. These were the things he forced himself to think about, rather than the larger worry that was looming in the back of his mind: Elway was the product of some kind of dark magic performed by a woman who was pregnant with a descendant of Satan. Stan couldn't think about that yet - he wouldn't. Elway was perfect, wherever she came from, and Clyde's baby had come out tiny but hornless.

His eyes were burning from the smell in the car by the time he pulled into the driveway. He'd have to shower before getting in bed with Kyle, who had been extremely sensitive to scents recently and would probably puke if Stan so much as stood in their bedroom doorway. Thinking that, Stan smiled to himself as he got out of the car. It wasn't just his bedroom anymore, it was theirs, his and Kyle's. Elway's, too. They were a family, and Stan's bed was their home.

He was almost teary-eyed as he reached for the door, either from the sulfur stench or the random swell of emotions, and before he could fit his key in the lock his father threw the door open.

"Stan!" he said, eyes wide. "Where the hell have you been?"

"At - I had to help a friend," Stan said, not prepared to explain. "What's the matter?" he asked, his hand starting to shake, keys jingling.

"Kyle's at the hospital," Randy said, shrugging on a jacket and pulling Stan back down the front steps. "Your mom and Shelly just left with him ten minutes ago. Why weren't you answering your phone?"

"My - fuh - what happened?" Stan's shaking intensified, and he found that he couldn't walk. He stumbled on the front walkway, and his father caught him.

"I don't know, he just started having pains," Randy said. "Your mother called that doctor of his, and the doctor said to get Kyle to the hospital, so they left. We tried to call you at work and your boss said you never showed."

"I was - I had - what kind of pains?" Stan seemed to have become functionally retarded from panic; he couldn't figure out how to make the passenger door on his father's car open. He couldn't even make his hands work.

"Just - pains!" Randy said, one leg in the car. "What are you doing? Get in!"

Randy had to help him get into the car. He made Stan put his head between his knees and take deep breaths, and after half a minute of this Stan sprang up and shoved his father's hands away.

"No, please, we have to go," Stan said. "Kyle - I need to be with Kyle, please, now."

"Alright, alright," Randy said. "Just don't faint on me. You're looking pretty green. And what the hell is that smell? Where have you _been_?"

"Dad, let's _go_, please!"

They were quiet at the start of the drive, except for Stan's sniffling as he attempted not to cry. He still hated getting emotional in front of his father. Randy reached over to rub Stan's shoulders when they were stopped at a red light.

"Was Kyle spitting up blood?" Stan asked, barely mustering the strength to ask the question. His voice was shaky, and his eyes blurred with tears.

"I don't think so," Randy said.

"Was he crying? Was he scared?"

"Well, yeah," Randy said. He gave Stan's shoulder a squeeze. "He's gonna be okay, though, son. Everything's going to be okay."

"You don't know," Stan said. He let himself sob a little, silently, his hands over his face. Randy sighed.

"Your mom went into labor with you late at night like this," he said. "Even later, like - two in the morning. You were two weeks early and you came too fast for her to get the epidural. It was pretty intense."

"Mom said I weighed seven pounds," Stan said, sniffling.

"That's right." Randy grinned. "Elway's number!"

"That's what we call the baby," Stan said. "Like, a nickname. Elway. Dad, I want her to be okay, and Kyle, oh, Jesus, what if he has to have heart surgery-"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that. Try to stay positive. You call your kid Elway? That's cute. Kyle's a good boy. I hope you don't think I dislike him."

"You said he was spoiled. Or maybe Shelly said that-"

"Well, sure, but we love him, your mom and me. I remember when you two were little and Kyle thought you were one of his toys. He thought you were our 'welcome to South Park' present for him, like the bottle of wine we brought over for his parents. He gave your mom such a look when she picked you up and told you to say goodnight. Like she was an Indian giver or something. I used to get kind of bent out of shape when he had you running around town stealing kidneys for him or what have you, but that was always when you seemed most like yourself, when you were helping Kyle out of some jam."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. "What am I like when I'm like - myself?"

"Stan-like," Randy said, and Stan actually managed to laugh.

Stan was shaking again when they reached the hospital and parked. He broke into a run as soon as he was out of the car, his father huffing and trying to keep up. He couldn't stop envisioning Kyle inside a bubble and Damien slamming his fists against it, making it crack and crumble while Kyle cowered helplessly, crying out for Stan and hugging his stomach, trying to protect their baby, alone.

The hospital wasn't busy, only a few tired-looking people hanging around in the front waiting room on the lobby level. Stan basically crashed against the admitting desk, and a bony little nurse with hoop earrings widened her eyes at him.

"Hi, sorry," Stan said, breathless. He could hear his father hobbling up to the desk behind him. "I'm with Kyle Broflovski, he was just admitted, he's one of the-"

"The pregnant boy, okay." The nurse nodded. "His mother told us to expect you. You're, um. The father?"

"Yeah," Stan said, his eyes filling again. "I'm the father, he's - mine."

"He's up on the third floor, c'mon."

"How is he doing?" Stan asked as they walked. "Is he okay? Is the baby coming?"

"I don't know, hon," the nurse said. "He came in with severe cramping. You'll have to talk to his doctors."

"Have any of the other ones come in?" Randy asked, as if he expected them all to go off like carefully timed bombs, simultaneously.

"No, not yet," the nurse said. "We did have a girl in labor check in to the regular maternity ward. Usually a teen mom gets a lot of looks, but not in this town! Everyone gets back to their magazines when they see that it's not a boy."

"Was the girl okay?" Stan asked. "The one in labor?"

"As far as I know," the nurse said.

"Good, because that girl knows how all this male pregnancy stuff happened," Stan said. "You should get the doctors to talk to her, and her friend. She's a witch." He glanced at Randy, who was staring at him with concern.

"Okay, buddy," Randy said, patting Stan's back. "Let's just get you to Kyle. That'll calm you down."

"I'm serious, Dad!"

Once they reached Kyle's room, all thoughts about Henrietta and her conspiracy to impregnate the senior class boys were gone. Kyle was surrounded by chattering doctors, his parents standing at the foot of the bed. At first all Stan could see was Kyle's matted red hair on the pillow, and when he hurried forward and saw Kyle's damp cheeks and trembling lips it was like taking a sword to the chest.

"Dude," Stan said, the word cracking in half. Kyle turned, his face pinching up in a slow motion sob as Stan came to the bed and groped for his hand, the doctors moving aside. Kyle pulled his hand away. Elway was where Stan had left her, still inside Kyle.

"Where were you?" Kyle asked, blinking out more tears and jerking his cheek away when Stan tried to kiss him.

"I was going to work," Stan said, "And then-"

"You're lying! We called your work, they said you hadn't shown up!"

"What's going on?" Stan asked, looking up at Terrell when Kyle kept his eyes pinched shut, scowling. "What happened?"

"He's having contractions," Terrell said. "With Clyde, we rushed to get the baby and the womb out, and we're trying to avoid that with Kyle. I don't know that we can, though," Terrell said, consulting a monitor. "The baby's heart rate is fluctuating in a way that has us worried. She's in a fair amount of distress."

"Oh," Stan said, stabbed again by that. Someone touched his shoulder, and he turned to see his mother.

"I'm so glad you're here, baby," Sharon said, softly. "I was worried."

"How much longer are you going to wait to operate, doctor?" Sheila asked.

"We'll have to make a decision within the hour," Terrell said. "At only thirty-five weeks, I'd like to wait, but we're flying blind here, even with the drugs we gave him for the pain, we don't know exactly how that will affect a male pregnancy. We have some insight from Clyde's experience, but-"

"I want to know where you were!" Kyle said, shouting this at Stan, more tears coming.

"I was with Henrietta," Stan said. "She-"

"_Henrietta_? From _class_?"

"Doctor, there's a patient here at the hospital," Stan said to Terrell, "Henrietta Biggle. She and her friend Wren - Wren Cleveland - they know how this happened. They caused the boys to get pregnant."

"How?" Terrell asked. Stan felt his face heat as all the doctors stared at him.

"Um," Stan said.

"Are you fucking her?" Kyle asked. He shifted on his pillow as if he was going to get out of the bed and physically attack Stan. "That fucking pig? You and your fat fetish - your love of tits! Well, she's got big ones, hasn't she? Is her kid yours, too? Oh, God, oh God!"

"Kyle, please," Terrell said. "You can't get worked up."

"You know I'm not fucking her!" Stan said.

"Well, then what you were doing with her when you were allegedly at work?" That was Gerald, and for a moment Stan could only boggle at him in response.

"She called me-"

"Okay," one of the doctors Stan didn't recognize said. "Baby's heart rate is zigzagging from 70 up to 150, we need to get him to pre-op."

"What?" Kyle said, still crying. "What - is she - oh, fuck, what did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, but you need to stay calm, bubbeh," Sheila said. "Think of your baby!"

"We need to clear some of these people out of here," one of the doctors said as the others made adjustments to the monitors and the IVs Kyle was plugged into. "Who's coming into the surgery, the father of the baby or the mother of the - other father?"

"I am," Sheila and Stan said at the same time.

"No," Stan said, "Kyle-"

"You're obviously upsetting him!" Sheila said.

"Sheila, really," Sharon said. The doctors were starting to roll Kyle toward the door, everyone moving with the bed.

"Kyle, please," Stan said, trying to grab for his wrist again. "Tell them - you want me there, right? You know I'm not fucking Henrietta. Damien tried to attack her, she just needed help!"

"Who the hell is Damien?" Kyle asked.

"The son of, you know," Stan said. "Um. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember. What the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle was keeping his voice low, but his teeth were gritted and his rage was obvious.

"The son of Satan!" Stan said.

"Is he on something?" Terrell asked Randy.

"Uh," Randy said. "I think he's just upset."

"You want your mom in there and not me?" Stan said. "You don't trust me? You think I'd cheat on you with that girl?"

"I don't know what to think!" Kyle said. "All I know is I needed you and you weren't there."

"I'm sorry, Kyle, God, I'm so sorry-"

"Everybody needs to back off," one of the doctors said, flattening her hand against Stan's chest. She was tall with a long, black ponytail, Amazon-like.

"Stan!" Kyle said, reaching for him, and Stan fought his way back to him. "I'm scared," Kyle said, whispering this, barely audible over the continued conversation of the doctors as they argued about whether or not a spine block was feasible. "Her heartbeat," Kyle said, more quietly.

"She's okay," Stan said, his voice breaking again. "She's just nervous, like us."

"Okay, Dad," the Amazon-like doctor said, and Stan was absurdly flattered when he realized she was talking to him. "Go with Nurse Hammel here and get some scrubs. If you want him with you during your surgery?" She looked at Kyle, who nodded.

"Is the baby okay?" Stan asked the nurse as she led him away, leaving Sheila to take his place as Kyle's main comforter.

"I think so," the nurse said. "It's not uncommon to have an emergency c-section because of the baby's heart rate fluctuating like that." She paused and stared at Stan when they came to a stop in front of a supply closet. "What were you saying before?" she asked. "About - Satan?"

"Oh, nothing," Stan said, in defense of Elway. He didn't want her associated with satanic things, and it was unlikely that having the doctors talk to Henrietta and Wren would cause anything but confusion at this point. "I'm just freaking out," Stan said. The nurse smiled a little tightly.

"That's normal. I assume this is your first baby?"

"Um, yeah. Is she going to be really little? Too little?"

"Five weeks early?" The nurse opened the supply closet and started rummaging for scrubs that would fit him. "She'll probably weigh about five pounds. Most of the complications at this stage have to do with the lungs."

"Kyle can hold his breath longer than anyone we know," Stan said, and he burst into tears. The nurse patted his shoulder as he started undressing in front of her, tripping out of his pants.

"I'll get your mother," the nurse said, and she slipped out.

After he'd changed into the scrubs and hugged his mom, Stan was brought into the operating room, which was a gallery that was circled by what looked like stadium seating around the ceiling, doctors crowding each other and elbowing to get a better view.

"Don't pay attention to them," Terrell said, appearing at Stan's side and touching his back. "Come here. We went with a spinal block on Kyle, so he'll be awake during the surgery."

"And it won't hurt him?" Stan asked, swallowing his dinner back down as he passed the doctors who were preparing Kyle's lower half to be sliced open. The rest of Kyle was separated from the action by a blue curtain, and Stan hurried around it, grabbing for Kyle's hand. Kyle was crying again, silently and without moving any of his facial muscles, tears dumping down his cheeks.

"Can you feel them touching you?" Terrell asked, referring to the doctors on the other side of the curtain.

"I can't feel anything," Kyle said. "Stan – ah, shit. I can only see your eyes!"

"It's normal to hallucinate," Terrell said, and he hurried to join the others behind the curtain. Kyle's eyes were huge, his pupils blown as he stared up at Stan.

"You can't feel this?" Stan asked, squeezing Kyle's hand hard. Kyle shook his head very slowly.

"They're going to cut me open," he said.

"Shh, don't think about that," Stan said. He knelt down until his chin was on Kyle's bed, their foreheads touching. He hated to think of all the doctors who were watching, especially the ones who'd been hanging around in South Park for months just so they might catch a glimpse of the unprecedented births. "Think about, um. The nursery. How we're going to redo Shelly's room after she moves out – what theme do you want?"

"Oh, God," Kyle said. "I just want her to breathe. I just want her heart to keep beating."

"I know, dude, but. Listen, just, you have to calm down, for her."

"You okay over there, Mom?" the Amazon doctor asked from behind her surgical mask.

"I don't know," Kyle said. He whimpered and closed his eyes. "I feel so weird. It's not really happening. Is it really happening, Stan?"

"Yeah, dude, it is," Stan said, tears dripping from the end of his nose.

"Any pain or discomfort?" Amazon asked. Stan already liked her better than Terrell; she seemed less excited and more appropriately bossy.

"No," Kyle said. "And I can see your face now," he said, whispering this to Stan.

"Good, dude, that's good."

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you love that goth girl?"

"Oh, Jesus, no. She's the one who did this to us. The pregnant thing, with some spell."

"I knew it," Kyle said. He sobbed a little, weakly, and reopened his eyes, sniffling. "I didn't really know it," he said, his voice wavering.

"Me either," Stan said, and he kissed Kyle's forehead. "But I don't think it fucking matters, you know? Elway's real. We're gonna meet her, you know, she's ours, and it doesn't matter how or why we ended up here, because we're here, dude, we're finally here."

"They said she won't cry," Kyle said. His lip was shaking badly. Stan did his best to dry Kyle's tears, but they kept coming. "They said not to be upset if she doesn't cry. That it doesn't mean she's dead, necessarily."

"Well," Stan said, starting to lose it. He squeezed Kyle's hand harder, and kissed each of his knuckles.

"Okay, we're almost there," Amazon said.

"Already?" Stan said.

"Yep – do you want to see, Dad, when we cut her out?"

"God – no – unless you want me to look?" Stan said, turning to Kyle, knowing he would faint if he had to see Kyle cut open like that, everything exposed. It was the soft dick thing times a billion, too much vulnerability. Kyle shook his head.

"I'm not that pretty on the inside," he said. "Trust me."

"Yeah, you are," Stan said. He kissed Kyle's lips. It was a shaky, salt-flavored, sorry excuse for a kiss, but they did the best they could, sniffling. "I'm sorry she called you Mom," Stan whispered in Kyle's ear. "Before."

"I don't care," Kyle said. "I want to be her mom. Somebody has to be. I want it to be me, Stan, Jesus, I'm _glad_-"

"Okay," someone said, and Stan heard a baby's tiny, angry cry. He was so out of it that he thought, _That must be some other baby_, and almost looked around to see who else had been wheeled into the theater before he realized, no, that was their baby, Elway. He looked at Kyle so that he wouldn't faint or throw up. Kyle was smiling, tears still streaking down both cheeks.

"Fuckers," Kyle said weakly, maybe meaning the doctors for being wrong about her crying. Stan wanted to stand up, to grab Elway and pass her to Kyle, their little football, but his legs were too wobbly and he didn't want to look over that curtain and see Kyle's insides.

"We're going to leave the womb in," Amazon said. "Doing a postpartum hysterectomy was too harmful to the other boy."

"Where is she?" Kyle asked. They could still hear Elway crying in trembling little outbursts, kittenish but furious. "Where – give her to me, where is she?"

"Show him," Amazon said. "Wheel the – there you go."

Elway was crying as they lowered her into a clear plastic box, ten feet away from Kyle's hospital bed. There were wires, latex hands all over her. Amazon was saying something about breathing distress and how it wasn't uncommon in preterm babies. Kyle was sobbing so desperately that Stan felt it in his own chest, a kind of tearing sensation, like he was made of wet paper and someone's fist was punching through him easily. Stan tried to stand up and got about halfway there when his vision tunneled. The last thing he heard before he passed out was Amazon calmly saying that they might not be able to see it from where they were, but their baby had one very fine tuft of bright red hair.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N:** So here's the longest chapter so far - and this one was supposed to have even more stuff happening in it! So there will be one more chapter after this, then the (long) epilogue. Then another mini-epilogue. :B

Thanks for reading guys, and for all your feedback, I really appreciate it!

* * *

><p>The next few days were endless and impossible, Stan's agony punctuated with random bursts of joy that made him want to bang his head against a wall to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Most of those joyful moments involved seeing Elway in the NICU, and the tide of lung-crushing pain would rush back in fast when she started crying and he couldn't lift her out of her incubator to comfort her. Almost worse was Kyle's never ending refrain, increasingly furious.<p>

"I want my baby," he said every time Stan returned to his hospital room, every time he left, and roughly every ten minutes, no matter what was going on, to anyone within earshot. Kyle made no attempt at sleep, and at moments seemed not to even need to blink, his eyes steely and red-rimmed. If Stan slept, he would be shaken awake by Kyle after a few disorienting minutes and reminded about what Kyle wanted, and when: now, now, now. It was killing Stan not to be able to bring her to Kyle and hold her himself, but the doctors insisted on caution. She was five pounds five ounces, preterm as opposed to premature, and she could breathe on her own, but the doctors wanted to continue monitoring her closely in the initial stages, and that meant keeping her plugged in to several machines in the NICU.

"You said you wouldn't let them steal her from me and you have," Kyle said while Stan watched listlessly as Sheila helped Kyle change into a fresh hospital gown. His nipples had started leaking, and Stan knew that this gown, like all previous gowns, would have two wet circles spreading across the front within the hour.

"Stop being so angry, Kyle, my God!" Sheila said when Stan just stood there, ashamed. "You're very lucky that your baby is healthy, and that you're okay. Be patient!"

"She doesn't need to be in that thing," Kyle said, shaking his head. "She doesn't, I know it. They want to keep her for themselves, to study her. They've stolen her from me, Stan, _go get her_!"

"I can't, dude," Stan said. He felt like he should cry but he couldn't anymore. His eyes were dry and painful, and his lashes were stuck together at the corners, crusty with salt.

"You have to try!" Kyle said. "Go talk to them! They won't listen to me, because of these fucking painkillers, they think I'm insane. But I'm right, Stan, I know I'm right. She needs me - go get her!"

"Kyle, you sound like a lunatic," Sheila said. Stan actually didn't agree with her, and he was dying inside, numb with a grief, because what if Kyle was right? The doctors had seen a premature baby that was the product of male pregnancy, and now they had a preterm baby to compare him to developmentally. Were they waiting for a full term baby for a side by side comparison? Elway looked completely perfect when Stan visited her, small but alert. He felt like she recognized him, because she would study his eyes for a few moments before bursting into angry tears, asking to be rescued.

"Have you decided on a name for the birth certificate?" Sheila asked, attempting to change the subject when Kyle continued to rant and Stan listened in silence.

"Yes," Kyle said, surprising Stan. "Elway. That's her name. Elway Broflovski Marsh."

"Kyle!" Sheila said, swatting his arm. "You can't call your daughter Elway. That's ridiculous."

"I know," Kyle said. "But that's her name. I carried her for eight goddamn months, I know what her name is, and it's Elway. We can call her Ellie if that makes you feel better." He moaned and brought his hands up to his eyes. "Now someone go get her for me, _please_."

"You're being completely irrational," Sheila said. She looked at Stan and sighed. "Don't let him fill out that birth certificate until he's come to his senses."

"Don't tell Stan what to do!" Kyle said. He turned to Stan. "Dude," he said. "Go talk to that lady doctor again. The huge one. She likes you, I can tell."

"I've been trying," Stan said. "She-"

"Try harder! They're not right about this, I can feel it! No one wants to listen to me, but me and Elway shared a body, I know her, and she needs me. I can't possibly communicate to you how deeply I know this, _please_. She needs to be with me, not with them, not being bottle feed, God, look at this!" He looked down at his shirt, and Stan moaned sympathetically. The wet spots were already starting to form.

"Okay," Stan said, backing out of the room. "Okay, I'll talk to Kate."

Kate was Dr. Albright, the Amazon-like woman with the long black ponytail. She never smiled, but she did seem to like Stan, and Kyle, despite the fact that he railed at her to give in to his demands every time he saw her. Stan found her at the coffee station near the nurse's desk on the maternity ward. She was making notes on a chart, a small cup of hazelnut-scented coffee resting on the counter beside it. Stan pretended to nonchalantly make himself a cup of coffee, though he felt like puking even at the smell of the stuff. He couldn't remember his last real meal.

"Can I see the baby again?" he asked when Dr. Albright noticed him.

"You can go up to the NICU anytime," she said. "Baby Broflovski is doing really well, we're all very pleased."

"Elway," Stan said.

"Hmm?"

"Elway, that's her name. After, um. The football player."

"Oh, you're adorable," Albright said, and she got back to her notes, ignoring Stan. After a few minutes she seemed to notice that he was still standing there, and she sighed, certainly aware of what he was going to say next.

"Could she come out soon, maybe?" Stan asked. "How - how are her lungs?" he added, not wanting to seem greedy. Clyde's baby was still on a respirator, and both he and Clyde were still weak enough to develop the occasional infection that set them back a little, though both were doing better in general.

"I'm gonna give it another ten hours," Albright said. "She's making progress, but we want to monitor her for a little longer."

"Ten hours," Stan said. She might as well have said ten years. Stan felt like he'd been in the hospital for at least twenty.

"I know Kyle is impatient," Albright said. "I understand. But this is only the second baby in the history of humanity, as far as we know, to be delivered from a man. We need to be cautious at all stages. Kyle should feel really lucky that his water didn't break like Clyde's did."

Stan nodded tiredly and sipped from the coffee. Since delivering Elway, the doctors had determined that Clyde's medical problems had mostly been caused by his water breaking and having nowhere to go. They were all saying now that he was very lucky to have survived. Kyle's water hadn't actually broken despite his contractions, and the doctors were able to drain it before stitching him back up. They were still monitoring him closely, too, to make sure his body didn't decide to spontaneously reject the womb.

"Do you promise about ten hours?" Stan asked.

"No," Albright said. "Elway's blood sugar is a little lower than we'd like, and the jaundice is clearing up, but it's not completely gone. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"Stan!"

He was surprised to recognize Wendy's voice, and he turned to see her coming toward him, wearing a baggy sweater over a sun dress. Dr. Albright took the opportunity to slip away with her chart while Stan gave Wendy a hug.

"I heard your baby's okay," Wendy said. She cupped Stan's cheeks and grinned when he nodded. "They just admitted Cartman. He's not in labor, but they want to keep an eye on things since the first two came early. I think Craig's here, too. I guess Butters is on his way - I tried to call Kenny but I think he's at work. I can't believe they didn't anticipate this problem with the water breaking. They say they can make it so that it won't happen to the others - oh, Stan, God, this is so - exciting!"

She seemed to be in a great mood, and Stan was exhausted just to be in the presence of her energy. He filled her in on what had happened with the C-section and Kyle's continued insistence that the doctors were working against him, and told her as much as he could about Henrietta without sounding completely insane.

"Jesus," Wendy said. "So it actually was a freaking – witch?"

"Well, a spell," Stan said, feeling stupid. Wendy was looking at him rather skeptically.

"Is Henrietta still in the hospital?" she asked.

"No, she checked out yesterday," Stan said. "Perfectly healthy nine pound baby. Oleander Biggle."

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

"Yeah."

"I guess it's no better than the name Eric wants," Wendy said, and she grinned. "Though Kinglet is kind of growing on me."

"Is Cartman nervous?" Stan asked.

"Of course," Wendy said. "He's all cranky. Would you come see him? I think seeing a friendly face would make him feel better."

"Sure," Stan said, not wanting to go back and give Kyle the news that he'd have to wait at least another ten hours to hold Elway. "So you and Cartman are okay now?"

"Why wouldn't we be okay?" Wendy asked, frowning.

"Uh, because he found out you sent in the placeholder money for Yale?"

"Oh, that." She rolled her eyes. "I just did it to make myself feel better, or something. Just in case. We fought about it a little more, but he knows I'm not going to Yale."

"Are you depressed about that?" Stan asked, because she didn't seem to be.

"Eh, you know me," she said. "I don't dwell. I move on." She sighed and stopped walking, turning to look at him. "I'm a little depressed about it, though, yeah."

Stan almost laughed out loud when he saw that Cartman and Craig were sharing a room. Neither of them seemed happy about it, and they both gave Stan irritable looks as he walked in with Wendy. There were doctors bustling around, some that Stan recognized and some that he didn't, and Liane was patting Cartman's hand while Craig's mother seemed to be having some kind of passive aggressive disagreement with Tweek's. Tweek was sitting on Craig's bed, clutching at Craig's arm and chewing on his knuckles, his eyes darting around the room.

"How are you feeling?" Stan asked Craig when Wendy went to Cartman.

"Fat," Craig said. "How's Kyle?"

"He's okay, just a little irritated that they've still got the baby in the NICU."

"Kyle doesn't get just a little irritated," Craig said. "I'm sure he's throwing things at the nurses."

"No," Stan said, though he felt it might not be long until that happened.

"Did they - gah! - cut him open?" Tweek asked.

"It was a C-section," Stan said. "But he's doing well. He said the only painful part was the catheter."

"The catheter?" Craig said, scowling. "Is that the thing where they stick a tube in your dick hole?"

"Ah! Jesus!" Tweek hid his face against Craig's shoulder. "That sounds fucking terrible, man!"

"Well," Stan said, too tired for the Craig and Tweek circus. "It's just temporary."

"Thanks, Marsh," Craig said. "I'll be sure to tell you that it's just temporary the next time someone jams a drainage device into your pee slit."

"Stop talking about dick holes and pee slits!" Cartman said, shouting. "Nurse! Doctor, somebody - I can't be in the same room with this asshole, seriously. It's making my blood pressure rise."

"Actually, your BP is just fine," one of the nurses at Cartman's bedside said.

"Just calm down, babe," Wendy said, stroking Cartman's cheek. He huffed but allowed her to coddle him. Cartman looked like absolute shit, his cheeks splotchy and red, his hair overlong and disastrously messy. Still, Wendy was looking at him like he was a rare and beautiful unicorn. It was perplexing, but Stan was glad.

"How's your little Jewish offspring?" Cartman asked when Stan stood beside Wendy. "Did she inherit the daywalker genes?"

"Elway's fine," Stan said. "She's really, really cute. And when she looks at you, you can tell she's so smart." Stan broke off there, not wanting to get emotional in front of Cartman. "And she has red hair, just a tiny little bit, like fluff."

"Ha!" Cartman said. "I knew the Jew's gingerfication would overpower your blandness. Nice. I always suspected you were a recessive ginger, Stan. It's the only explanation for your slavish devotion to that daywalker."

"You're seriously calling your baby Elway?" Wendy said before Stan could snap at Cartman. "Kyle is okay with that?"

"It was Kyle's idea," Stan said. "Well, I guess I came up with it, but Kyle is the one who's insisting on putting it on the birth certificate. We'll call her Ellie, maybe."

"Well, that's sweet," Wendy said. She was absently stroking Cartman's hair, and they exchanged a look. As if Kinglet was such a great name.

"Did you ever get in touch with Butters?" Stan asked. "I've been so busy with work, I haven't even heard much from Kenny."

"I went over to Butters' house a few weeks ago, but his mom turned me away because he'd been put on bed rest." Wendy made a face. "I guess it's probably true, because everyone was on bed rest at that point, but, I don't know. I saw Kenny when I filled up my car the other day and he seemed a little crazed."

"Crazed?" Stan said.

"Out of it," Wendy said. "Or - intense, or something. I guess he's just so worried, not being able to see Butters and know that he's okay."

"Damn," Stan said, feeling terrible for them. It was hard enough to see Elway in her little plastic containment system, but at least Stan could reach through one of the holes in the side and touch her tiny hand. Kyle had done this only once. Disconnecting from his monitoring devices wasn't easy, and he wasn't supposed to be sitting up or moving around much, the wound from his C-section still healing. He'd sat with her for an hour, fogging the side of the incubator with his teary breath while he rubbed circles on her palm with his index finger. Elway and Kyle had both been quiet, mesmerized as they watched each other, and she fell asleep while Kyle whispered reassurances and promises that he would get her out soon, as if he would be saving her from a dragon's den. He'd fought like hell when the nurses took him away to check his blood pressure, which had been high since the surgery. The rest of the afternoon and evening was fairly awful, with Kyle furiously insisting that Elway be liberated every ten minutes instead of every half hour. Stan felt like he was doing so every thirty seconds today. Even in Cartman and Craig's room he felt like he could still hear Kyle begging him for his baby.

"I'd better get back to Kyle," Stan said. "Let me know if you guys hear anything from Butters."

"Will do," Wendy said. "Keep us posted on Elway. Ellie? And have you seen Token yet today?"

"Um," Stan said, scratching his head. He _had_ seen Token at some point since Elway was born, or perhaps twice, but he wasn't sure which day this was or which day that had been. "Yeah, he's around. He and Clyde both look like hell, but Clyde got the okay to go the NICU in a wheelchair twice a day, so his spirits are improved. Mostly."

"Have you seen their baby?" Craig asked, apparently eavesdropping. Stan turned, nodding.

"Clyde decided to change his name," Stan said.

"Seriously?" This made Craig smile for some reason. "How fucking Clyde of him."

"Well - he said that once he saw the baby with his eyes open, he looked more like an Andy."

"Andy Black," Wendy said. "Yeah, that's better."

"He'll change it three more times before they check out of the hospital," Craig said, still smiling.

"Have you got a name picked out?" Stan asked him.

"It's between Plum or Huckleberry," Craig said. "Depending on what her eyes look like, I guess."

"Are you being serious right now?" Stan asked while Cartman cracked up.

"Yes," Craig said. He had his arm around Tweek, who was curled up like a nervous older sibling awaiting the birth of his sister. "I've always wanted to name a child after a fruit."

"I thought you didn't even want kids," Wendy said.

"It wasn't necessarily going to be _my_ child." Craig made a face and lifted his shoulders, as if he didn't appreciate this examination of his psyche. "Don't you have a hysterical spouse to see to, Marsh?" he said.

"He's not hysterical," Stan said, though he knew as he hurried from the room that, after thirty minutes alone with Sheila and no news about when he would be able to hold Elway, Kyle was probably setting world records for hysteria.

Before Stan could reach Kyle's room he ran into Shelly and Ike, who apparently had nothing better to do than hang around the hospital day asking Stan the same questions that literally everyone who saw him asked. How's Kyle, how's the baby, and how much longer until we can hold her? Considering Kyle's feelings about knowing what the baby needed more than a team of doctors ever could, Stan was beginning to doubt if Kyle would even let him hold Elway, let alone any members of their extended family.

"Have you eaten?" Shelly asked.

"No," Stan said. "Well, yeah, I had some snack mix from a vending machine - yesterday?"

"I'll get you some food," Shelly said. "Is Kyle eating?"

"Yeah, he's probably hungry, get him something, too. Thanks, Shelly. Hey," he said to Ike when he started to walk off with her. "Can you do me a favor?"

Ike saluted him and straightened his shoulders. Stan took that as a yes.

"Try to get in touch with Kenny," Stan said. "I'm pretty sure it's - what time is it?"

"Two thirty," Ike said. "P.M."

"Right, uh, I think he's at the soap factory until six, but after that could you try calling the gas station and getting in touch with him?"

"Which gas station?" Ike asked, frowning.

"Uh, that one by the highway? I'd give you his cell number, but my phone sort of melted."

"Oh," Ike said. "Did Kyle breathe fire on it?"

"No, someone else did." Stan glanced at the door to Kyle's room. "Is he any calmer?"

"Any calmer than what? A rabid cat on meth? No, he's not any calmer than that."

There was a nurse checking Kyle's monitors when Stan entered, and Sheila and Gerald were sitting on the narrow couch on the opposite side of the room, Sheila talking loudly on her cell phone and Gerald snoring, his head tipped back on the couch cushions.

"There you are!" Kyle said when he saw Stan. "God, where have you been? Get over here and advocate for me. My mother refuses to do anything but dismiss everything I say."

"Sorry," Stan said, hurrying to the bed. "I ran into Wendy and the gang. Everyone's here except Butters, and no one has talked to Kenny lately. I'm starting to worry."

"Oh, please," Kyle said. "Worry about your daughter who's being held captive by doctors who've gone mad with power. Did you go see her?"

"I was going to, but-"

"Stan! You have to check on her constantly! Someone could slip away with her!"

"There's a lot of security," Stan said, though he was so suddenly worried that he thought he might throw up. "And you told me to talk to Dr. Albright, and I did-"

"What did she say?"

"She said that Elway's blood sugar is still a little low-"

"Right, because she's not drinking breast milk!" Kyle gestured to his hospital gown, where the wet spots had grown larger. "It's just sitting here going to waste while they give her formula. What the hell is that? They could at least get me to pump for her! But no, none of them care about me now that I'm done incubating their little science project."

"It's not like that," Stan said, his voice shaking from exhaustion more than emotion. "Dude, I want her to be with us, too, so bad, but how terrible would we feel if something went wrong because she came off the monitors?"

"What's going to go wrong?" Kyle asked. He looked like he wanted blood, and Stan was tempted to take a step away from the bed. "I'm telling you, Stan, _goddammit_, drinking from these tits would fix her blood sugar, help her get over the jaundice, and she's just - they're traumatizing her!" Kyle's voice broke, the ferocity draining from his features. "She doesn't know what's going on, Stan, she thinks we've abandoned her!"

"Dude, no." Stan climbed into the bed beside Kyle and put his arms around him. It was strange to see him without the huge stomach, and he seemed dangerously small as he leaned against Stan, sniffling.

"No, no," Kyle said after a moment, pushing Stan's hands away. "Don't waste your time comforting me. Go see her. Wait, better - hey," Kyle said to the nurse, who was adjusting the IV that was feeding pain meds into Kyle's veins. "I need a wheelchair, please," Kyle said. "I need to go see my baby."

"I can't let you get out of that bed until your incision stops bleeding," she said. She was a large, older woman who seemed unimpressed with Kyle's rage.

"You're bleeding?" Stan asked, looking down at Kyle's stomach.

"Only a little," Kyle said. "It's nothing. It doesn't even hurt."

"You're on a morphine drip," the nurse said. "Nothing should hurt."

"Well, something does, okay!" Kyle said. "This milk, it's taunting me, it's so fucking heavy and I can't give it to her - can't anyone bring me a pump or something?"

"I'll try to get one for you," the nurse said. "But we need a doctor to look at your incision before we do anything else."

"It was barely enough blood to stain the bandage!" Kyle said. "That's got to be normal!"

"Nothing about you is normal, kid," the nurse said, and she headed toward the door. "I'm going to find Dr. Terrell."

"No, get Dr. Albright," Stan said. "Please, if you can."

"Stan," Kyle said, grabbing Stan's hands as soon as the nurse was gone. "Get me a wheelchair."

"Dude, why? I can't disconnect you from your IV. Don't be crazy."

"Stop calling me crazy!" Kyle said. "I'm not crazy! Henrietta Biggle is fucking crazy, and she got sent home with a helpless infant! And they won't trust _me_ with my baby? Somebody listen to me!" He said this to the ceiling, weeping. "Please!"

"Okay, stop," Stan said, glancing at the machine that was monitoring Kyle's heart rate, which had skyrocketed. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"What's going on over there?" Sheila asked, hanging up her phone.

"I want my baby," Kyle said, sobbing. He slapped Stan's hand away when he reached for him. "Get away from me," he said. "Traitor. This is all going to shit and nobody but me cares! They're ruining her life by keeping her in that box. She'll never forgive me, she'll have trust issues-"

"They're going to strap you to the bed if you keep talking like this!" Sheila said, and Stan reached for Kyle again, because being strapped to a hospital bed was his worst fear, thanks to his childhood experience with Apple. Kyle whimpered and let Stan hold him this time.

"Shh," Stan said, rubbing his back. "I'm not happy about this either, okay, and I don't trust the doctors a hundred percent. But Dr. Albright said that she's just waiting about ten hours to make sure-"

"Ten hours!" Kyle wailed. "That's an eternity to a baby who's all alone in a box!"

"Kyle, stop this," Sheila said. Gerald was sleeping through all of this, somehow. "The doctors are just being careful with your baby. Don't you want that?"

"Nobody knows how to be careful with her but me," Kyle said, and he sobbed into Stan's chest for a while, growing limp against him. "I'm so tired," he said while Stan kissed his hair, which smelled pretty bad. "They're poisoning me with this morphine."

"Now, young man, you listen," Sheila said. "I made the mistake of thinking that I knew better than medical science once, and it almost killed my first born child. I know you remember this, since you're so fond of bringing it up when you're mad at me. Don't make the same mistake, Kyle. Listen to the doctors!"

"It's not the same!" Kyle said. "It's not the same at all! The doctors didn't have a vested interest in me! They think she belongs to them just because she's a medical anomaly!"

"Calm down, dude, please," Stan said. "Just - there you go," he said when Kyle hid his face against Stan's neck and took a deep breath, his hand still clawed around the front of Stan's shirt.

"I feel like it was all for nothing," Kyle said quietly as his mother walked back over to Gerald, muttering about immaturity. "Like I went through hell just so they could take her from me."

"You'll have her soon," Stan said. "I promise."

"You can't promise me that. They'll keep coming up with these flimsy excuses to keep her for themselves. They took her, Stan, they took her from me." Kyle dissolved into sobs again, and he was trembling so hard that Stan wondered if he should mention it to the doctor when she came. He wiped his wet face in Kyle's hair and let out a shaky breath.

"I know," he said, quietly. "I know, I know. It's not fair. I want her here with us, too. After they took her off the oxygen, when her lungs were better, I thought they'd bring her to us."

"They'll never bring her," Kyle said. "They'll take all of our babies, Stan, just watch. They'll say it's for the best, to be cautious. And Henrietta will get to keep her little bastard just because she's a fucking girl."

"Dude, don't call her baby a bastard."

"Well, it is one." Kyle sniffled and rubbed his cheek on Stan's neck. "Sorry. That was mean."

"You're upset," Stan said. "It's okay. But I won't let anybody take her away, ever. You know that."

"God," Kyle said, whispering. "I used to feel so complete when you held me like this. I don't anymore, Stan."

"I know," Stan said, because he felt it, too, like some part of Kyle wasn't in his arms.

"That's terrible," Kyle said.

"Yeah, but it's also kind of great," Stan said. "Because when we're together, all three of us, we'll have that feeling times a thousand."

"I want that feeling, Stan," Kyle said, his voice pinching up as he spoke. "I'm fucking dying without it, without her, I feel like we're both going to die."

"Shh, stop."

"Like they're sapping her life force to fuel some science machine," Kyle continued, weakly, "And it's taking mine, too. Because we're connected, Stan. I can _feel_ her needing me, it's tearing me apart."

Stan turned to Sheila and Gerald, wanting to appeal to them, to demand that they do something, because they were the _adults_, they were supposed to _fix things_. Sheila was tapping at her iPad and Gerald was still asleep. Stan knew they were accustomed to Kyle's outbursts, especially after eight months of hormone imbalances, but he felt like Kyle wasn't just being overdramatic or letting the morphine talk for him. There was some truth in what he was saying; Stan could feel it, too.

"I heard you had some bleeding?" Dr. Albright said when she entered, trailed by another doctor and the older nurse.

"Barely any," Kyle said. "Can I-"

"No, you can't have your baby yet, Mr. Broflovski," Dr. Albright said, consulting her chart. "But soon, okay? Let's take a look at your incision."

"How is she doing?" Kyle asked as the doctor peeled back his blankets. "Is she crying? Is her heart rate okay?"

"I can't tell you if she's crying or not, but her heart rate is okay, yes," Dr. Albright said. "We should be able to move her incubator into your room soon."

"How soon?" Kyle asked. "And you mean - I can take her out, right? Out of the incubator, once it's in my room?"

"We'll see," Dr. Albright said, frowning at Kyle's stitches as she peeled up his bandage. Stan had to look away, his stomach lurching. The wound was puffy and crusted with blood. "I don't like the looks of this," she said. "Have you been moving around a lot?"

"Not a lot-"

"You have to be careful," she said. She shook her head. "I'm going to give you an antibiotic. This looks infected."

"Oh, fuck," Kyle said, his voice trembling. "Why can't anything just go right, goddammit?"

"Just be glad your water didn't break and flood your lungs," Dr. Albright said. "And that your daughter is well on her way to weighing six pounds."

"She'd weigh more if she was drinking breast milk," Kyle said. Gerald was awake now, but Kyle seemed to have no qualms about discussing his breasts in front of his father after all.

"Kyle, stop hounding her!" Sheila said, hovering. "She's trying to take care of you! Honestly, doctor, he's been impossible."

"It's alright," Dr. Albright said. She was jotting a prescription, and she seemed completely unperturbed by Kyle, which Stan appreciated. "A lot of first time parents are overly anxious."

"Is Terrell up there with my baby?" Kyle asked. "I don't trust him. He's got a funny look in his eye that I don't like."

Albright actually smiled then, just a little, raising her eyebrows.

"He's a smart guy," she said. "You don't have to worry."

"I'm not questioning his _intelligence_, I'm questioning his motives."

"Kyle!" Sheila said. "Stop it with the sass talk, for the love of God!"

"Can we please just have Elway, please?" Stan asked. He hadn't meant for that to come out sounding so desperate, or so loud. Everyone turned to stare at him, including the nurse who'd been fussing with the IV. "Please," Stan said to Albright, struggling not to clasp his hands together and shake them at her theatrically. "Please, if she's okay, can you at least bring her down in the incubator?"

"We'll give you money," Kyle said, and Albright laughed.

"Let's go upstairs and check on her," she said. "Stan, come with me. We'll see what the situation is."

"Okay," Stan said. He felt raw and close to collapsing, but he forced himself to pull his shit together for Elway's sake. He bent to kiss Kyle on the lips before leaving.

"Come back with her," Kyle said, whispering this against Stan's mouth. Stan nodded, not sure how he would face Kyle or walk away from Elway if he couldn't.

"Go ahead and take him off the morphine," Albright said to the nurse.

"What?" Kyle said. "Why?"

"So you can feed her if she's ready to come down," Albright said, raising her eyebrows. Kyle sat back against his pillows and smiled, his lips shaking a little.

"Okay," he said, softly. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Is everything okay?" Sharon asked when Stan and Dr. Albright passed through the waiting area. Randy had left for work, and Shelly and Ike were both elsewhere. Stan felt badly for leaving his mother alone outside the hospital room, though he suspected she would rather be there with a magazine than listening to Kyle and Sheila shout at each other while Gerald snored.

"Everything's fine," Stan said. "I think. Kyle's is bleeding where they cut him, um - where his stitches are."

"It's not unusual," Dr. Albright said. "The nurse will have given him his antibiotic by the time we get back. We were just on our way to the NICU to see your grandson," she said to Sharon. "You can come with us if you'd like."

She was tearfully happy at the very suggestion, and Stan put his arm around her shoulders as they walked. Sharon and the other grandparents had only glimpsed Elway through the window that looked into the NICU. The doctors had cleared a full section just for Elway and Andy, just in case some unforeseen complication of their existence might threaten other nearby babies. Stan thought it was ridiculous, since all tests indicated that both babies had no abnormalities that others who were born early didn't.

When they arrived at the NICU, the scene inside affected Stan the way it had on all of his previous visits: at first he felt instinctual panic, because there were doctors gathered around both incubators, and then he was angrily possessive, wanting to push them all away when he saw that they were just observing Elway, making notes.

"Can you folks clear out for a moment, please?" Albright asked. Stan thought the others must be beneath her in some way, because they usually did what she said. Only Terrell and a bald doctor Stan didn't recognize lingered when the others moved away, joining the crowd at Andy's incubator. Stan gave Token and Clyde's tiny baby a sympathetic look. He was newly angry when he looked back at Elway, because she was so clearly healthy compared to little Andy, who still needed tubes for feeding and breathing. Elway had a monitor clipped to her left hand and an IV with fluids flowing into her right arm, but otherwise she was unencumbered, fidgeting in her miniature diaper and whining when they loomed over her.

"Hey, hey," Stan said softly, kneeling down to put his hand through the hole on the left side of the incubator. Albright had a muttered conversation with Terrell and the bald doctor while Stan touched his fingertip to Elway's tiny ones. His mother knelt down behind him, sniffling, and touched his back. Elway turned her head to look at them, and every time she blinked Stan did a laugh-sob thing that he couldn't hold in.

"I never know what to say to her," Stan said.

"I remember that feeling with your sister," Sharon said. "She'd just look at me so expectantly, like she wanted some answers. With you, I just knew you wanted me to sing to you. That always calmed you down."

"She's listening," Stan said. "When you were talking - she hadn't heard your voice yet. She's so - doesn't she seem so smart? See, it's like she's paying attention when I talk."

"Of course she's paying attention," Sharon said. "And you don't have to say anything to impress her. Look, she's completely impressed - she's still looking at you while I talk. She knows who the really interesting one is, here."

"Can you see you see her hair?" Stan asked, wiping tears and snot from his face. He didn't even feel like he was crying, it just kept coming. "It's right at the back of her head."

"Hmm." Sharon stood to get the proper angle, and Elway tipped her chin up, her eyes widening as if this was a little frightening. She whined, kicking her feet, and Stan stroked her wrist until she was looking at him again. "Oh, I see, yeah," Sharon said. "Kyle's hair, wow! A little lighter though, maybe? And she's got your eyes. She looks like you, Stan."

"I think the elevated heart rate episodes are situational," Albright said, still speaking to the other two doctors. "And I haven't seen anything dangerous since yesterday, when we were in here arguing about the necessity for oxygen."

"I'd feel better if we kept them both here under observation," the bald doctor said.

"Right," Albright said, and Stan's heart fell. "Well, what I'm saying is, I think your patient here would feel better if she was not under direct observation. The incubator is stressful for a baby with this level of cognizance. It might actually be setting her back at this point, in terms of the heart rate spikes. And I know my patient would benefit, too. His blood pressure is dangerously high despite a morphine drip, and he's incapable of keeping still enough to let his incision heal."

"You could strap him down," Terrell said.

"Who are we talking about?" the bald doctor asked. "I'm confused."

"I'm talking about the baby's mother," Albright said. "Well - father. And honestly, in the state he's in, strapping him down might send him into cardiac arrest. I propose that we make this unit mobile, removing the fluids and leaving a portable heart rate monitor in place, and then we can take stock of things once we've moved her. She's responding really well, but we won't know what she's capable of until we see how she functions without intervention. She's got a good track record - she came off the oxygen with minimal distress."

"I don't like it," the bald doctor said. "It seems reckless. You're entrusting a miracle of science to a teenager."

"Excuse me," Sharon said, still crouching behind Stan as he held Elway's wrist between his thumb and forefinger, gently, feeling her pulse against his thumb. "This is not a miracle of science," Sharon said. "She's a miracle of nature, if anything. And mostly she's a baby."

"Kyle was right," Stan said, softly. He had his eyes locked on Elway's, because looking at her was keeping him calm. He was afraid he might start thrashing doctors if he broke away from her gaze.

"I'm not entrusting anything to a teenager," Albright said. She sounded bored, and she waved a nurse over. "Kyle is my patient, and I'll be there to oversee everything."

"Kyle is my patient," Terrell said.

"No, I'm taking over," Albright said. "Can you remove this IV, please?" she said to the nurse. "Take measurements with the monitor before and after." She looked at Terrell while the nurse worked. He was staring at her incredulously. "Tim, I put you on this because I didn't want to get involved with what I thought at the time was a false positive. Now that we have a living, breathing child I'm more interested than I thought I would be. Also, your patient doesn't trust you. Well?" she said, looking to the nurse, who was touching the monitor on Elway's hand. Elway whined and then cried, fidgeting.

"Minimal change," the nurse said. "But the levels are still normal. Heart rate increased when I was removing the IV. Try to calm her," the nurse said to Stan, and he was stunned that they would trust him to, then terrified that he wouldn't be able to do it.

"Go ahead, sweetie," Sharon said. Elway was crying harder now, her little eyes pinched shut.

"Shhh, hey," Stan said, trying to recapture her attention by stroking her arm.

"Heart rate is climbing," the bald doctor said.

"I can see that, Brian," Albright said. "She's a crying baby, it happens. Stan, do you want to try holding her?"

"N-no, Kyle should hold her first." An embarrassing amount of fear flushed through Stan's chest at the thought of holding her there, with the doctors watching and poor Andy still inside his incubator.

"Here, then - nurse, remove the top cover."

The nurse did as Albright asked, and Stan glanced over his shoulder. As he'd expected, everyone surrounding Andy's incubator had gone silent, and they were all watching to see what would happen, some of them muttering to each other and shaking their heads.

"There you go," Alright said when the cover was gone. She reached in and touched the red fuzz on Elway's head with one finger. Elway was howling reedily now, moving her arms and kicking her feet. "You can touch her," Albright said to Stan as he rose on shaking legs until he could reach over the wall of the incubator.

"Shh," he said, and he touched her cheek. This startled her enough to make her go quiet and open her eyes for a moment, then she cried again, wibbling. Stan realized that she was crying because she didn't understand why no one was picking her up, which made him cry, because he was still afraid to.

"She's okay," Albright said, stroking Elway's head again. "Just confused. We're going to wheel her down to 7-B," she said to the nurse. That was Kyle's room. Stan exhaled loudly with relief. Elway whined a little, and Stan rubbed her cheeks with his thumb as if to dry her tears, though she didn't seem capable of producing any yet. Those were his cheeks, somehow, it was true.

"I'd like to again register my objection to this," the bald doctor said. "Tim?" he said, turning to Terrell. "You've been on this since the beginning, what do you think?"

"Ah-" Terrell said, at a loss. "Well, normally, when a baby is breathing and eating on her own-"

"We deliver them to the parents, precisely," Albright said. "Thank you, Tim."

"It's preposterous to suggest that this is a 'normal' case," the bald doctor said, but Albright ignored him, walking beside the nurse as she wheeled Elway's unit slowly toward the door of the NICU. Stan felt immensely guilty as he walked past Andy's incubator. Andy had gained almost two pounds since his delivery, but he still had a long way to go before the doctors could be confident about his breathing.

The walk through the hallway with Elway in her incubator was surreal. The nurse had returned the top cover of the incubator to protect her from airborne germs, and she was crying in confused little outbursts. Stan was shaking, feeling unqualified and overly young as his mother tried to calm his visible distress. He was more overwhelmed than distressed, and he felt like everyone was staring as they traveled through the halls. He knew everything would be okay as soon as Kyle took over, but knowing that made him feel useless.

"She's doing just fine," Albright said, consulting the monitor that was still attached to Elway's hand. "Heart rate's up from all the excitement, but she'll calm down once she's a little cozier."

"Hey!" Ike said when they wheeled Elway past the waiting area. "Whoa!"

"Everything's fine," Stan said, not even sure what he was talking about.

"Can we clear the grandparents out of the room, please?" Albright said to a nurse who was exiting Kyle's room. "I don't want a lot of people crowding the bed and making her nervous."

"I'll be right out here, Stan," Sharon said, letting his hand slip from hers as he followed the nurse into the room, trailing behind Albright and the incubator. Kyle was sitting up in bed, ignoring his parents while the other nurse herded them out. His eyes didn't even flick to Stan's or Albright's for a moment. He was staring at Elway, smiling dazedly, his hands worrying together in his lap. He didn't ask if he could have her, didn't say anything, just held his arms out and waited.

"Okay, just a second," Albright said. One of the nurses closed the door as she left, and the other went to Kyle's monitors to check them. Elway was crying as Albright removed the top of her incubator and checked her monitor. Albright made a noise that Stan couldn't interpret, and he glanced at Kyle, who still had his arms stretched out toward the baby, his hands beginning to shake.

"Her heart rate's okay, but I'm still not thrilled with her blood sugar," Albright said. "Let's see if we can get her to latch on you." She unclipped the monitor and Elway cried harder, making Stan think of Kyle when he lost his already thin patience with something. Elway had Stan's features, for the most part, but her expressions were more Kyle-like.

"Baby," Kyle said tearfully, flexing his fingers. Stan stood back and watched as the nurse wrapped Elway into a pale pink blanket. Elway looked so desperately confused, and Stan wanted to do something, but he knew he didn't need to as the nurse passed Elway to Kyle, bundled up in the blanket. Kyle laughed wetly when his fingers finally touched her, and he seemed to be holding his breath as the nurse placed her in his arms. "Baby," he said again, very quietly, bending down to kiss her forehead. Elway was still crying as he cradled her, but there was more of a complaining quality to it now, as if she was telling him about her ordeal. "Oh, I know," Kyle said, tutting as he kissed the tip of her nose very delicately. "I know, poor baby." He looked up at Stan and smiled, his eyes so wet that Stan was sure he couldn't see clearly. "What are you doing, dude?" Kyle asked. "C'mere."

Stan exhaled and nodded, hurrying to the bed. Albright was talking with the nurse about something, but Stan couldn't make sense of their background noise. He climbed up onto the bed very carefully, settling at Kyle's side, his chin on Kyle's shoulder. Elway was still fussing a little, but she quieted and gave Stan a drowsy look when he cupped his hand around her.

"She has my hair," Kyle said, and Stan dried Kyle's face for him before his tears could drip onto the baby. Kyle looked over at him, and Stan couldn't remember ever seeing him look so wrecked or so beautiful. "Stan - why should I be happy that she has my stupid hair?"

"I'm happy, too," Stan said. He kissed Kyle's cheek, and they both looked down at Elway, who was peering up at Kyle. "It's not stupid hair," Stan said. "It's perfect, see?" He touched the fluff on Elway's head and she shifted her gaze to him.

"God, she's really alert," Kyle said, sniffling. "That's amazing."

"She's smart," Stan said. "She's so smart, you can tell."

"Of course you're smart," Kyle said, kissing her face again. "You're the best one, aren't you? Stan, we got the _best one_."

"I know, dude, totally."

"Feeling better now?" Albright asked from the foot of the bed, presumably directing this to Kyle. He looked up at her and grinned, nodding.

"Thank you," he said, nearly losing his voice on the second word. "Thank you so much."

"They were being a little greedy up there," Albright said. "It's just - amazing. We're amazed by these infants. Do me a favor and unbutton your gown, see if you can get her to latch."

"Latch - oh." Kyle sat up a little, shifting Elway to get access to the little buttons on the front of his gown.

"I'll do it," Stan said. He'd never imagined that undressing Kyle could be so nonsexual and yet fascinating. Kyle's A-cups had swelled to something more like B-cups, especially since Elway had been delivered.

"Um," Kyle said, and Stan was close enough to feel the heat of his blush. "What do I do?"

"Just press the nipple to her mouth," the nurse said, appearing at the side of the bed. "Try - oh. There you go."

Elway latched on like she'd been looking for that nipple for days, and the little noises she made while she nursed made Stan start crying again. He put his chin on Kyle's shoulder and wiped his wet face on Kyle's neck. Kyle was calm, stroking her tuft of hair while she ate, and he was smiling smugly when Stan looked up at him.

"That's a really good sign," Albright said, sort of boggling.

"Well, _I'm_ not surprised," Kyle said. "She's a little piggy like me. Of course she wants to eat."

"What does that feel like?" Stan asked, and he thought he heard the nurse contain a laugh.

"Kind of hurts, in a good way," Kyle said. "Like being drained, I don't know. I'm just glad she likes me."

"Of course she likes you, dude," Stan said, laughing. Elway had closed her eyes, but she was still sucking with abandon, and there was indeed something Kyle-like about the way she ate. She was at it for about ten minutes before she drifted off to sleep in mid-suck.

"I hate to disturb her, but I want to check her vitals," Albright said, coming to Kyle's side. Kyle gave Albright a betrayed look and hugged Elway closer.

"But she's sleeping," he said, whispering.

"It will only take a minute," Albright said. "You can hold her while I check her heart."

Elway wailed when Albright put a stethoscope against her tiny chest, and Kyle cried, too, frustrated that he couldn't put a stop to this. Albright was pleased with her findings and gave them some space, taking the nurse aside to speak with her. Elway was irritable afterward, but she calmed when Stan and Kyle whispered to her, Stan's arm hugged around Kyle's as he cradled her to his chest again. She was sleeping when Albright gave their families the okay to come in, and about five minutes into their tearful cooing and picture taking, Stan fell asleep with his head on Kyle's shoulder. He woke up to the sound of fast food wrappers crinkling and straws being punched through to-go cups. Shelly had arrived with Arby's for everyone.

"I'll hold her while you eat," Sheila said, approaching with a roast beef sandwich, Kyle's favorite. Stan wasn't sure how Shelly knew that; maybe it was a lucky guess.

"No, I'm not hungry," Kyle said.

"Kyle, you should eat something," Albright said from across the room, where she was conferring with some new doctor who'd come in while Stan slept. "Your diabetes can make recovery from this kind of surgery really tricky if you're not careful about your blood sugar."

"Oh, fine, God," Kyle said, sitting up a little. Elway made a soft noise of complaint, and Kyle shifted her over toward Stan. "You hold her, dude," he said. "You haven't yet."

"Stan is hungry, too!" Sheila said, obviously itching to have an armful of her grandchild.

"I can wait until Kyle is done," Stan said, though he was still nervous about holding the baby. It was less intimidating with Kyle so close, sitting in a bed with their family around them, away from the judgmental stares of the doctors in the NICU. He accepted Elway carefully, and she woke as Kyle passed her over, crying a little. Stan shushed her and leaned down to give her a peck on the forehead, breathing in the smell of her. "You're perfect," he whispered, and she made a faint protesting sound before falling asleep again.

"I should be eating something more nutritious," Kyle said with a mouth full of roast beef. "Right?"

"Yes," Albright said. "But that's fine for now. Your blood pressure has gone down, so that's good news. Just don't drink any soda."

"Man, dang," Ike said, coming to Stan's side to marvel at the baby. "You guys _made_ that."

"Her," Stan corrected, annoyed. Kyle laughed.

"I did all the real work," he said. "Stan just - well, I suppose you all know what Stan did."

"Kyle!" Sheila said.

"Sorry," Kyle said, stuffing more sandwich in his mouth. "I'm just in a good mood. And Stan knows I'm joking." He leaned over to give Stan a very roast beef-scented kiss at the corner of his lips. "I never would have survived this without him. Everyone here knows that."

"I didn't do anything," Stan said, blushing.

"Yes, you did," Kyle said. "Look at that adorable little nose. You did that. Thank God!"

"Well done, buddy," Randy said, coming over to ruffle Stan's hair. He'd left work when he heard that the baby had been liberated, and he'd been surprisingly quiet since showing up, smiling a lot.

"You haven't filled out the birth certificate yet, have you?" Sheila asked.

"No," Kyle said. "But her name is Elway, so forget trying to talk me out of it."

"Can't it at least be her middle name?" Sharon pleaded, exchanging a look with Sheila.

"Her middle name is Broflovski," Kyle said.

"That's her last name," Sheila said.

"Her last name is Marsh," Kyle said. Sheila made a huffy sound and walked over to Gerald, who still seemed half-asleep as he ate some curly fries.

"We could do a hyphen," Stan said.

"You two are getting married?" Randy said.

"We're already married," Kyle said.

"What?" - Sheila, Sharon, and Ike all said this at once. Shelly laughed.

"For all intents and purposes," Kyle said. He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and balled up the wrapper, tossing it onto the bedside table. "Alright, I'm done. Your turn to eat," he said, reaching for Elway. Stan didn't want to let go of her yet, but he did, and he ate two sandwiches and some cold fries. He felt a little bit like puking afterward, but he ignored the groaning discomfort in his stomach and focused on Elway, who was whining and rooting at Kyle's chest like she was hungry again.

"Can everyone get out for a minute?" Stan asked.

"No, it's fine," Kyle said, pulling his shirt open. "I don't give a shit."

"Don't curse in front of your daughter," Sheila said. "My God," she added after a moment, fidgeting. "That's really - working, eh?" She seemed to be the only one in the room who was perturbed by the sight of Kyle nursing the baby. Gerald was talking with Randy about the traffic on 285, Ike was rummaging through the fast food bags looking for stray fries, and Sharon was back to telling stories about Shelly and Stan as babies while Shelly listened, sighing. Stan was asleep again within two minutes, slumped onto Kyle.

Stan and Elway slept in fits and starts for the rest of the afternoon and on into evening, interrupted at moments by doctors and nurses who needed to check on Elway or Kyle. Finally Kyle started to droop, and Stan slipped Elway from his arms as he fought to stay awake. Elway and Kyle both whined.

"Sleep for a few hours," Stan said, leaning down to give Kyle a kiss. "You're delirious."

"Nh'mhm not," Kyle said, his head lolling on the pillow. "Where are you going with her?" he asked as Stan slid out of bed, holding Elway.

"Not far," Stan said. "I just want you to get some sleep."

"He's right," the nurse who always seemed to be in the room said. She was stocky and sandy-haired with tropical print scrubs. "You need some rest."

"Neh," Kyle said, and he fell asleep with his arm stretched across the bed in Elway's direction. Stan brought her over to the couch and had the nurse turn the TV on. He felt surprisingly well-rested, and was glad when Kyle slept right through the action as various people came into the room to visit with him and the baby. Shelly, Ike, and all of the grandparents each got their turn to hold Elway, who didn't seem to like this much and was rescued by Stan after less than a minute with each of them. Everyone went home around eight, except Sharon and Sheila, who both insisted on staying another night. They were leaving to get some dinner together when Wendy came to the door. Kyle was still passed out in the bed, only grunting weakly when the nurse prodded him to check his vitals.

"Hey!" Wendy said, softly, in reverence of the baby. "Oh - Stan!" She brought her hands to her mouth and shook her head, smiling. "Here, look who I found!"

She reached behind her and pulled Kenny into the room with her. Stan grinned, relieved to see him, though he looked like hell. He was unshaven and had bags under his eyes, but he smiled at the sight of the baby, his hands in his back pockets.

"Oh, shit," he said, crouching down to get a better look at her. "She's like a mini Stan with Kyle hair."

"It's perfect!" Wendy said, shaking her fists. "Stan, oh my _gosh_. She's sleeping?"

"Yeah," Stan said, and he nodded to the hospital bed. "So's Kyle."

"Poor fella," Kenny said, looking at Kyle, and Stan knew he was thinking of Butters. "Is he okay?"

"Yep, just worn out," Stan said. "How's Cartman, um. And Butters?"

"Butters is here," Kenny said. "Not that I've seen him."

"They've got him in a private room," Wendy said. "I wish they'd put him with Cartman and Craig, God, that would be such a comfort to him." She sighed, looking at Kenny, who was studying Elway sadly. "We're a little concerned that Butters still hasn't told this couple who want to adopt the baby that it's not happening."

"Maybe it is happening," Kenny said, muttering. He stood and walked over to Kyle's bed.

"Kenny, he wouldn't do that," Wendy said. "Butters loves that baby. He's just scared of his parents."

"Scared enough to let them get their way when the heat is on," Kenny said. He sat on Kyle's bed and stroked some of his hair off his forehead. The nurse in tropical scrubs looked twice at this before glancing at Stan, who couldn't exactly explain that Kyle was a surrogate for Kenny's need to comfort Butters at the moment. Kyle sighed in his sleep but didn't wake.

"Cartman's okay so far," Wendy said. She dropped down onto the little couch beside Stan and moaned with delight at the sight of Elway, putting her head on Stan's shoulder. "What a sweet little girl," she said, her voice pinching up a bit. "Oh, God, Stan, I'm so jealous. I can't wait to hold my Kinglet."

Stan nudged her with his elbow, reminding her to be sensitive to Kenny. They both looked at him. He had his hand on Kyle's shoulder, his thumb moving a little.

"He must have been scared as shit when those contractions started," Kenny said.

"Yeah," Stan said. "And I wasn't there, I was on my way to work-"

"You weren't there?" Kenny looked up. "Damn. Was he alone?"

"No, he was with my folks. He yelled at me a little when I got to the hospital, but he forgave me pretty quick. Kenny, God - have you tried talking to Butters' parents?"

"Yep," Kenny said, looking at Kyle again. "This time they offered me ten thousand dollars to get lost."

"That's not right," Wendy said. "They can't legally stop you from seeing him. You're the _father_, for God's sake."

"I don't want to cause a scene and get him upset," Kenny said. "When his parents are pissed off he panics, breaks out into a sweat and starts stammering like a kid. He doesn't need that stress right now."

Kyle's eyes opened blearily at the mention of stress. He jerked, looking around and regarding Kenny with puffy eyes.

"Where's Elway?" he asked, struggling to sit up. "Kenny?"

"Calm down, dude," Kenny said, helping him to lean back onto his pillows.

"She's here," Stan said. He stood and brought her to Kyle, who held his arms out and moaned happily as Stan slid Elway into them. She started fussing as soon as he had her.

"What's wrong?" Kyle asked, rocking her gently.

"She smells your milk," the nurse said. "She's hungry, you should feed her."

"Oh." Kyle looked up, flushing when he saw Wendy. "Can you guys get out?" he asked.

"Good to see you, too," Wendy said, but she was smiling. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to Kyle's temple. "I've got to get back to Eric anyway. Just wanted to say congratulations. She's really beautiful, Kyle."

"I've got to get to work," Kenny said, rubbing his eyes and sliding off the bed. "You guys call me right away if you hear anything about Butters, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Stan said. "Write down your work number." He got a pen Gerald had used to do a crossword puzzle and had Kenny write the number on his palm.

"Try to see him if you get a free second," Kenny said. "I know he's scared." He turned and left abruptly, and Stan wanted to run after him, because he could hear him trying not to cry. He let Kenny go, waving to Wendy. She was thoughtful enough to close the door behind her, and when Stan turned back to the bed Kyle already had his boob out.

"Such a good baby," Kyle cooed when Elway got right to it, her eyes sliding shut. Stan climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around both of them, feeling like he could sleep again.

"Our moms are bringing some dinner," he said. "Did you have a good rest?"

"Yeah, mostly," Kyle said, wincing. "I'm definitely not on morphine anymore, I'll tell you that."

"You're sore?"

"As fuck, yes."

"That's normal," the nurse announced. She seemed to have been permanently stationed in the room, probably at Albright's request. "I can give you a milder painkiller that's safe to use while breastfeeding."

"No, I don't need that," Kyle said snottily. "I can deal with it."

"Suit yourself," the nurse muttered. She had her back to the bed and was going over some paperwork that was spread out on a narrow table against the opposite wall.

"Wendy was so jealous," Stan said, knowing this would please Kyle. He nuzzled at Kyle's cheek, reveling in the dirty, milky smell of him. "Do I stink?" he asked, because he'd had a change of clothes from his mom but hadn't showered since hoisting a two hundred pound girl soaked in amniotic fluid into his arms, among other things.

"I wouldn't know," Kyle said. "I know I smell like death."

"No, it's not like that. It's like - life, actually. That's what you smell like."

"Stan," Kyle said, turning to grin at him like he was being ridiculous, and like it was appreciated. Kyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pressing his face to Stan's. "I know it's just this temporary elation, like surviving a near-death experience," Kyle said. "But I am so ridiculously fucking happy. I have never been this happy, dude. I don't even know how to breathe when I feel this good."

"Clearly you do," Stan said, watching Kyle's chest rise and fall as Elway continued nursing, making those little noises Stan loved. "But I know what you mean. I feel like I could do anything. Like everything's perfect."

"Poor Kenny," Kyle said, looking down at Elway again. "He seems just - devastated. I literally felt like I was dying when they were keeping me away from her. I could feel it, I'm serious, like my soul was getting sucked out through a straw. I wish Kenny would be more proactive about trying to get to Butters."

"What's he supposed to do, go in there with his fists flying? You know how Butters' parents are."

"God, I'm so lucky I have you," Kyle said, putting his face in Stan's hair when Stan scooted down to kiss the top of Elway's head. "I keep thinking that, 'what if I didn't have Stan?' I'd be this pathetic three-legged dog. We need you so much. Don't we?" he said, speaking to Elway.

"I was afraid to hold her at first," Stan said, his eyes watering a little when he remembered. "Up in the NICU, Albright asked if I wanted to hold her, and I said that you should hold her before anyone else, but mostly I was scared. She seemed so vulnerable up there, like, I didn't want to touch her and mess something up. Now I just want to hoard her and kiss her nonstop."

"I will never let anyone take you away from me again," Kyle said to Elway, and Stan thought that would probably be an issue when the doctors wanted to examine her, but maybe they could do it in the room, or Kyle could accompany her in a wheelchair. "Dude, look at her _ear_," Kyle said in amazement, tracing his fingertip over the left one, which was exposed. Stan bent down to kiss her there and she made a complaining noise around Kyle's nipple, frowning a little. "Oh, are we interrupting your work?" Kyle said, and Stan laughed.

"I want it to be like this forever," Stan said. "Just me, you, and her."

"Same here," Kyle said. "Me, you, her, and Nan."

Apparently that was the name of the nurse. She turned from her paperwork and gave Kyle a smirk.

"Does his blood pressure always go back to normal when he gets his way?" she asked, looking at Stan.

"I don't know," Stan said, embarrassed.

"Seriously, thank you for staying," Kyle said, glancing up from Elway to look at Nan. "It makes me feel better to have you here. I don't want to take risks with her, I mean, I'm not some holistic medicine freak. I just have to be with her, I have to."

"It's not always possible, but a lot of the time it's good for the baby's health to bond with the mother earlier rather than later," Nan said. "I think you made the right call."

"Am I a mother?" Kyle asked her. "Technically, is that what I am?" He didn't seem upset, only curious. Nan shrugged.

"I'm just glad there's two of you," she said. "It's hard enough when you're so young."

"I'm glad about that, too," Kyle said, and he leaned over to kiss Stan. They both had terrible breath, stale and reeking of Arby's, but Stan went for Kyle's tongue anyway, and Kyle laughed into his mouth.

Their mothers returned with takeout food within the hour. They'd brought a cheeseburger and a chef salad, and Kyle and Stan ate half of each while Sheila and Sharon took turns holding the baby. Kyle watched them in rapt silence the whole time, as if these were two suspicious characters who might dash off with his baby at any moment. Elway was fussing intermittently, and as soon as she started crying in earnest Kyle pushed the remains of the salad into Stan's lap and demanded to have her back.

Doctors came and went throughout the night and in the disorienting days that followed, but for the most part it was Dr. Albright and Nurse Nan attending to them, administering to Kyle and checking Elway's progress. Kyle's initial elation faded and he began to grow irritable with everyone as the pain from his surgery continued to plague him. Only Elway could do no wrong, and even in his darkest moods Kyle would hum to her sweetly when she woke and fussed. Mostly she slept and ate, and whenever the doctor examined her she cried in a beseeching way that made Stan and Kyle tense with the need to reclaim her. Getting Kyle to leave her long enough to take a shower was an exhausting process, but on their fourth day in the hospital Albright ordered him to take one for his health.

"Try not to get the bandage too wet," she said as Stan helped Kyle out of bed. "We'll replace it with a fresh one when you're through."

Kyle had been up a few times, but he was still sore and easily tired when he was on his feet. Albright passed Elway to Sheila, who always seemed to be waiting to receive her.

"I'm gonna go with him," Stan said to Albright as they headed toward the attached bathroom. "Um, if that's okay."

"I was going to recommend it," Albright said, and Stan wondered if she meant that it would be good for Kyle to have help or that Stan smelled bad enough to require a shower, too.

"I feel disgusting," Kyle said when they were standing under the water together. The hospital shower was barely big enough for the two of them, and the water pressure wasn't what Stan had hoped for, but it felt incredibly good just to wet his hair.

"You'll feel better when you're clean," Stan said, soaping Kyle's shoulders.

"No, I won't! God, look at me." Kyle moaned, glancing down at himself. His nipples were swollen and sort of crusty-looking, and his stomach looked like a deflated balloon, lined with bright white stretch marks. "Why are you getting _hard_?" Kyle asked.

"Because, I don't know," Stan said, muttering. Kyle was completely soft, and Stan felt like an idiot; he didn't want to have sex, but they were still naked together in a shower. "The water?"

"Oh, thanks."

"I mean – and because of you! Obviously." He leaned forward to kiss Kyle, but Kyle moved away, slapping soap suds off his skin.

"Careful," he said. "You're not supposed to get soap on the nipples. It corrupts the – something. I forget what the nurse said. Apparently there's infection-fighting stuff in that crusty junk. And I think the baby would freak out if I suddenly tasted different." He moaned and closed his eyes. "I want to go home."

"I know, dude," Stan said. He held Kyle's shoulders and kissed his forehead. "Me, too. But you know they're not going to let us leave for at least a week."

"It's so unfair," Kyle said. He seemed to want to cry but couldn't quite get started, mostly just whining and moaning as Stan drew him into a hug. "Elway's doing so well, and I'm fine."

"Yeah, but they don't know what's going to happen. Look at all the complications Clyde had after his surgery. He was the first one to have the womb come out, but you're the first one they've left it in. I want you to be here with the doctors if something happens, dude."

"I don't," Kyle said. "I'm so tired of all of them. Of everybody. My mother, she's so – she thinks I can't do this without her, she won't stop hovering. I'm a natural, Stan. It's the only thing in my life that's ever come easily to me, other than you. But nobody trusts me to do anything. I haven't even changed her diaper myself yet."

"It's not that great," Stan said, because he'd done it a few times. Kyle laughed tiredly and wrapped his arms around Stan's back.

"So weird to be alone together," he said, muttering.

"Yeah," Stan said. "Feels kind of good, though. Since she's right outside there, with our moms."

"Hey," Kyle said, looking up at Stan. His eyes were a little red, but they always were. They were both perpetually exhausted, despite the fact that they rarely left the bed and didn't do much more than eat or sleep. Stan would have to return to work soon, and it wouldn't be easy. "I'm sorry I'm so hideous," Kyle said.

"You know you're not," Stan said, reaching down to squeeze his ass.

"No, I am." Kyle sniffled and hid his face against Stan's shoulder. "I'm jiggly and gross and sewn back together, and I've still got the floating womb, goddammit. What does that mean? Will I have to go on birth control? Will we have to use condoms?"

"Dude, don't worry about that yet," Stan said, though it had crossed his mind more than once.

"I love her so much," Kyle said. "I didn't think it would feel like this. I don't want to think about anything but her. Everything else is just over."

"Honey," Stan said, very softly, and Kyle pushed out a little laugh.

"Now you talk to me like I'm this sad old lady," he said.

"That's not what I meant," Stan said.

"Whatever, no, forget it," Kyle said. He stood back and sniffled, reaching for some off brand shampoo. "Tell me the latest gossip. You went for a walk this morning, right?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "I saw Token and Clyde when they were on their way back from the NICU. Andy's doing okay, but he's not coming off the respirator for a week at least. I tried to see Butters, but his mom said he was sleeping. I'm gonna try again later."

"Cartman and Craig are still pregnant?"

"Yep," Stan said. "As of last night, anyway. I haven't talked to Wendy since then. She said Cartman's like you, he just wants to go home."

"I know I'm complaining a lot," Kyle said, his eyes hardening. "But you don't know what it's like. Or maybe you do. I want to be in our bed, Stan. Away from all these onlookers."

"We will be soon," Stan said. "We still need to get a crib and – stuff."

"Oh, fuck a crib. She's sleeping with us."

"Well. Okay. But she needs clothes, and a car seat, and – a changing table?"

"You'll have to go out with your mother and buy things," Kyle said. "I'm confined to my crate."

"At least you've got Elway with you now, while you wait until they let you leave."

"I know, I know, I know," Kyle said. He rested his hands on Stan's hips and put his forehead against Stan's neck. "I'm so lucky, and ungrateful, and horrible."

"You're not horrible! I want to go home, too-"

"Quit pretending like you can relate to how obnoxious I am," Kyle said, and Stan snorted. "Alright," Kyle said before Stan could retort, and he leaned back. "Wash my hair for me, Stanley, please, and make it fast. I miss my baby."

Stan called his boss at the pharmacy later that afternoon, to confirm that he was on the schedule for the following week. He was, and he knew he should be relieved, since he'd just started the job and had failed to show up one night without giving notice, but the prospect of forty hours of the night shift mixed in with days of interrupted naps at the hospital made him want to sink to the floor and curl up in a ball. He couldn't do that now; he had his daughter and Kyle to think about, a family to support. The thought made him feel grown up and worn down.

That night, Stan collected Wendy from Cartman and Craig's room so they could attempt yet again to see Butters. Stan was beginning to feel nervous about it, as if Butters had undergone some grotesque transformation and his parents were trying to shield him from horrified onlookers, but when Butters' mother opened his hospital room door and allowed them inside they found Butters looking much like he had the last time they'd seen him: tired, lonely, plump-cheeked and hugely pregnant. He was smiling as they came to his bed, but there was such obvious Herculean effort behind it that it only emphasized the fact that he was barely holding it together.

"Just a short visit," his mother said, showing no sign of being willing to leave the room. They'd spied on the door for a while and waited until his father left.

"I heard the good news about your baby," Butters said when Stan took his hand, which had gotten puffy like the rest of him. "That's so wonderful for you and Kyle! I hope you'll bring her to see me soon."

"Oh – sure." Stan hadn't even considered that. Kyle generally wasn't letting Elway leave the room, and Albright had been supportive about doing her exams there. Elway was actually doing better than Kyle, who wasn't recovering from the trauma of the C-section as easily as the doctors had hoped.

"How's Eric doing?" Butters asked, looking to Wendy.

"He's fine," Wendy said. "Just impatient, but the doctors say it's good that the rest of you haven't gone into labor early. How are you feeling?"

"Just fine!" Butters said, and Stan could see that he wanted to ask about Kenny, and that he wouldn't, not with his mother standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm a little tired, that's all. And I miss being able to get out of bed."

"Well, you can't, young man," his mother said. "The doctors told you."

"I know, and I won't try to, I promise!" He gave her a shaky smile and she sighed. She pressed her hand to his cheek and brushed his bangs from his forehead.

"Can you tell him a little about how hard it is now that you have a baby?" she said, looking at Stan. "He's got this crazy idea that he wants to keep his. We had to send that poor couple we'd promised her to away, and they were just the sweetest people. A doctor and a homemaker! What more could you want for your baby?" she asked, giving Butters a pointed, accusing look.

"It's not easy," Stan said. "But we love her so much." He squeezed Butters hand and smiled when Butters looked up at him. "You remember how Kyle was, before? So unsure?"

"Yeah," Butters said. "But I knew he'd love that baby a whole lot when he saw her, 'cause she's yours, Stan, and he loves you." He glanced at his mother timidly before looking down at his hands, pressing his fists together. "That's why I love my baby," he said, very quietly. "'Cause I love Kenny so much."

"You're confusing lust with love, darling," Mrs. Stotch said, and she gave Stan a look that suggested he and Kyle had made the same mistake. "That boy hasn't even been to see you in months."

"He's tried!" Stan said. "You guys are keeping him away, offering money—"

"Don't try to make Butters feel better by lying!" Mrs. Stotch said, her cheeks turning faintly pink. "You'll only confuse him more."

"You are terrible," Wendy said, her voice heavy with disgust, and it took Stan a moment to register that she'd actually that out loud, and that Butters' mother had heard it.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Stotch said.

"Wendy, hey," Stan said, touching her arm.

"No," Wendy said. "This is sick. Even if you think your son is just fooling himself, why not give him the comfort of being with the father of his baby instead of isolating him so you can control him—"

"Wendy," Butters said, shaking his head.

"I think you two need to leave," Mrs. Stotch said. "Butters is very tired, and you two obviously feel some sort of allegiance to the McCormick boy—"

"Kenny is a good person!" Wendy said, getting loud. "Last time he was here he left the hospital in tears because he's so worried about Butters! Because he misses him so much!"

"He did?" Butters said, starting to cry.

"They're lying to you, honey," Mrs. Stotch said, soothing her hand through Butters' hair. "Their hearts are in the right place, but they're telling you stories, trying to make you feel better—"

"Dude, what the fuck!" Stan said. "Butters, we're not lying."

"If that boy had come, if he really cared so much, who could have stopped him from seeing you?" Mrs. Stotch asked. "Your father and I don't have the authority to keep him away. You're eighteen now, after all. We've always wanted to keep him away, because we knew he'd hurt you, but when he wanted sex he climbed right through the window, didn't he? He was much more determined, then."

"Lady," Wendy said. "If I could punch you in the face right now—"

"Wendy," Stan said, pulling her away from the bed, toward the door.

"If you threaten me again I'll have security come take you away," Mrs. Stotch said, eerily calm. Butters was sobbing into his fists, hunched over. "And look how you've upset my baby, when he's already so fragile!"

"We're leaving," Stan said, still pulling at Wendy, afraid she was about to get into a fist fight. "But Butters, you know we're telling the truth, you know Kenny, he just—"

"What's going on in here?"

Butters' father was at the door, holding a cup of coffee and scowling. "Linda?" he said. "What are these kids doing in there? Why is he crying?"

"They were trying to console him, Stephen," she said. "But they've just upset him."

"This is psychotic!" Wendy said, nearly shouting, and Stan had to push her out the door.

"Please leave our son alone!" Mr. Stotch said. "You kids have teased him and abused him since he was a tot! Isn't it enough that one of you got him into this situation? You've had the last laugh, haven't you? Enough!" He slammed the door when they were out of the room.

"Stan!" Wendy said, wide-eyed.

"I know," Stan said, guiding her further from the room. "But we're not helping."

"Someone's got to do something!"

"We can after the baby comes," Stan said, shaking his head. "Kenny was right about staying away until then. Butters just needs to get through this, and then Kenny will be there, and no one will be able to stop Butters from being with him. At least Butters was up front with them about not going through with the adoption. That's good news, right?"

"Yeah," Wendy said. "Jesus. I'll call Kenny and tell him." She made a kind of growling sound, her hands still in fists at her side. "It's just – do they seriously think they're _helping_ him when they say shit like that?"

"I think they really do," Stan said, queasily. "Shit – what if me and Kyle are like that someday, with Elway?"

"Like what?" Wendy asked, narrowing her eyes. "Evil and manipulative? Uh, I doubt it."

"Yeah, but they're not trying to be evil, and they don't think they're manipulating him, they think they're protecting him. I mean, we _did_ treat Butters like shit when we were kids. Kenny almost cost him a fucking eye. They don't know Kenny like we do, and Butters is kind of gullible sometimes. You know, he'll do anything to get people to like him. Kenny sneaked into their house and fucked their kid, knocked him up and ruined his life. That's all they see."

"Jesus," Wendy said, rearing back slightly. "Is this how your mind works when you have a baby? You start being able to relate to the fucking Stotches?"

"Maybe," Stan said. "I guess you'll find out pretty soon. But Kenny was right, like I said. Let's just leave Butters alone. I mean, he's not really alone. He has his parents, as fucking annoying as they are."

"Okay," Wendy said, shaking her head as she dug her phone from her pocket. "But I don't like it. They're lying to him, Stan. They're telling him that Kenny never showed. They know that hurts him."

"You're right," Stan said, his fears that he and Kyle might turn into monsters for the sake of protecting Elway evaporating somewhat. He couldn't imagine telling that kind of lie, even if he thought it was for the best. "Um, I'm gonna get back to them," he said while Wendy dialed Kenny's number.

Back in Kyle's room, Kyle and Elway were both asleep, and Sheila was chatting with the nurse. Nan had moved the incubator, which was now basically just an open bassinet, next to the bed. Kyle had his wrist pushed through the hole on the side facing the bed, his hand resting over Elway, who was bundled up in her little blanket.

"Can I pick her up?" Stan asked, walking over to Elway.

"Sure," Nan said. "You know – you don't need permission from us. You're her dad."

"I know, just," Stan said, stammering. He didn't try to finish that statement, because he felt it was obvious why he couldn't quite believe that she was his yet. He lifted her the way the nurses had taught him to, supporting her head, and hugged her to his chest when she whined. "Shh," he whispered, walking with her over to the window. It looked out on the parking lot, and the mountains were visible in the distance. "Are you gonna hike with me someday?" he asked Elway, whispering this to her while Sheila and Nan resumed some conversation about a bistro in town that had gone downhill. "Kyle doesn't like hiking. I hope you'll be on my side, but it's okay if you're not." He kissed her forehead and laughed when she nudged her little nose against his chest, looking for a meal. "Uh, that's not me," he said. "Hold tight."

Kyle was awake as soon as Stan put a knee on the bed, and he reached for Elway before his eyes were fully open. Stan didn't have to tell him what she wanted; Kyle sat up with a grunt and pulled his gown open.

"That's amazing," Stan said, curling up against Kyle while she ate. "You're amazing," he said, rubbing his nose against Kyle's cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle said, his voice scratchy. "What time is it? What _day_ is it?"

"I – can't really answer either of those questions, dude," Stan said, and Kyle laughed, leaning into Stan's arms.

Stan went back to work two days later, and he shopped for baby accessories with Shelly that weekend. He felt like he was dreaming most of the time, nodding before he'd really heard what people said. He took cell phone pictures of baby outfits with Shelly's phone and sent them to Kyle, who issued decrees about what should and shouldn't be purchased. At the Marsh household, Stan's room began to resemble a little girl's bedroom, pastel pink and pale green things accumulating. Jimbo and Ned delivered a giant plush giraffe one morning when Stan was just coming off his shift, and he got drunk with them in the backyard to celebrate his 'manhood.' Sheila refused to accept Kyle's co-sleeping plan and bought them an elaborate white crib that had high ratings on some baby merchandise review website.

"We can keep it here in Kyle's room until he decides it's a good idea," she said as she stood in the doorway of Kyle's bedroom, watching Stan and Randy assemble it.

"Your mom did the co-sleeping thing with Shelly for a while," Randy said when Sheila had wandered off to answer the phone. "It, uh. It's kinda tough."

"We'll be okay," Stan said, not wanting to talk about his future sex life with his father.

"Just don't let him take the reins in, uh, that department," Randy said. "Not completely. I don't know how it is between two guys—"

"Dad!"

"Sorry, sorry. But you know what I mean, Stanley."

"Yeah, so stop talking about it!"

Stan never would have thought it would be true, but the next time he could have sex with Kyle was still very far from his mind, even as Elway approached three weeks old. They were still in the hospital, because Kyle was persistently feverish for reasons the doctors couldn't determine. His incision had healed and he had no infections that the doctors could detect, but he still couldn't cross the room without overheating. Stan was worried and Kyle was dismissive, blaming the stress of being in the hospital and insisting that going home would cure everything.

Elway's biggest problems were diaper rash and an increased tendency to cry like a banshee. The nurses were better at interpreting what she needed than Kyle, and Stan could see that it was driving Kyle crazy, especially after his initial proficiency when she was only a week old and just wanted to eat constantly. Now they had to decide if she wanted that, a diaper change, or just some particular form of being held that they could only determine after they'd tried all three: in bed against the pillows, while being carried around the room, or on the couch, which was increasingly her favorite place to be. Eventually Stan discovered that singing Bob Marley songs calmed her down almost to a disturbing degree, her favorites being "Waiting in Vain" and "Is This Love?" He could feel Kyle boiling jealously when this worked better than the tit or his own cooing, and Stan tried to play it down, but it was hard to do so when they were all in the same room constantly.

"She likes your voice better than mine," Kyle said one night when they were lying in his hospital bed with the baby, who was sleeping in Stan's arms. Stan had a shift in an hour and was dying inside at the thought of the greenish overhead lights and the dusty, band-aid smell of the pharmacy.

"That's crazy," Stan said. "I just talk more."

"I talk to her!" Kyle said. "When you're at work I'm here alone with her for ten hours! We talk."

"Well," Stan said, not sure what Kyle wanted to hear. He wished he could lie in the bed with Elway for the next ten hours instead of sitting behind a register and watching the clock. "I don't think she likes my voice better. She just sees less of me."

"So what does that mean? You're more exciting?"

"Dude," Stan said, his voice shaking. He looked over at Kyle, knocking their foreheads together. "I'm so tired. I don't know what I'm doing. What? What do you want?"

"Don't ask me what I want," Kyle said, and he pinched his eyes shut, doing a slow-motion sob thing that tore at Stan's chest. "I want to go home. I want get on on with our lives. Stan, I'm supposed to go to fucking college in a month."

"You can wait until spring semester if you need to," Stan said. "They'll let you."

"But that will mess up the whole thing!" Kyle cried. "They only offer certain classes in the fall, and I want to go, I want to start, but then, I couldn't leave her, not even for a fucking hour!" He leaned down to press his lips to Elway's forehead, crying some more, silently. Stan stroked Kyle's hair and daydreamed about making up an excuse to skip work.

Stan didn't call in sick, still feeling guilty about the week he took off when Kyle gave birth. He showed up on time and manned his place behind the register. He felt like he spent at least ninety percent of his time there, the other ten percent spent in the variegated hell of the hospital, where the two people he loved more than life itself were trapped in relative comfort. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside long enough to appreciate the way trees looked when the wind blew hard. It was summer, mid-July, and he hadn't even seen any fireworks.

Stan had finally gotten a replacement for his melted phone, and he checked it during his dinner break, stirring a steaming hot cup of instant chili with his other hand, fresh from the microwave. When he saw Kyle's text he felt like a douchebag for being in a snit about something as harmless as a long shift at work:

_craig in surgery_

"What happened?" Stan asked when Kyle answered his call.

"Contractions," Kyle said. "He's in there having the same thing I had, I guess. The C-section. We're waiting to hear."

"Shit."

"I know," Kyle said. "Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Dude, what?" Stan said, his voice getting high. "Why? Huh? What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know," Kyle said, crying. "Why am I still here in this fucking hospital? What's happening? I feel like I'm dreaming."

"Oh, Jesus, dude, me too. All the time. Is Ellie there?"

"She's in her medi-crib, sleeping. Right here next to me. Stan, I hate it when you're not here."

"I know, dude. Me too. Let's pray for Craig or whatever."

Stan prayed for Craig over his instant chili, which was too salty and burned his tongue. Two hours later he got an update, from Wendy this time:

_Craig and baby ok! Tweek didn't faint!_

Stan felt like the mention of someone not fainting was a dig at him, but he didn't care much, because all he wanted was for everyone to walk out of the hospital with healthy babies. The supermarket across the street was opening as Stan's shift ended, and he stopped there to get some treats for Kyle and flowers for Craig. He knew Craig would scoff at them, but he didn't care. He was in a good mood as he reentered the hospital, and Kyle seemed to be in better spirits, too, holding Elway and laughing with Ike, both of them leaning over the baby.

"Dude, she just smiled," Kyle said, beaming. "It was crazy."

"I take full credit," Ike said. He was holding a little stuffed fish with a rattle in its tail and wiggling it in Elway's face. Stan hurried over and peered at her, but she mostly seemed wary of the fish, though interested.

"How's Craig doing?" Stan asked, scooting up to slump against Kyle, who turned to kiss his face.

"Great, last we heard," Kyle said. "The lucky bastard got his baby almost right away."

"Plum?" Stan said. "Or Huckleberry?"

"What?" Kyle said, frowning, and Ike laughed.

"That's what Craig said he was going to name her," Stan said.

"Well, Jesus Christ," Kyle said. "I haven't heard the name yet, but. Poor kid."

"Says the father of Elway," Ike said. "I'm gonna call her Elbow," Ike said, looking at Stan. "I decided."

"You are not," Kyle said. "Isn't he mean, calling you that?" He kissed Elway's cheeks, and she made a little cooing sound that caused Stan to do something similar.

"It's not mean," Ike said, trying with the fish again. This time it made her cry.

"Enough socializing," Kyle said, pushing the fish away. "You two go check on Craig, I'm going to feed her. Are you hungry?" he asked Elway, rubbing his nose against hers. "Hmm? Aren't you glad you're not named Plum? Are you going to make fun of Plum Tucker for her ridiculous name? I would defend you to your teacher if you did."

"He's going a little crazy, I think," Ike said as he left the room with Stan.

"Can you blame him?" Stan asked. "Even our moms have gone back to work. He's alone all day with an infant - or all night, I guess, since I'm here during the day. I'm usually asleep, though. God, time feels so weird right now."

"We should smoke some pot," Ike said.

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked, shoving him. "No."

"You used to be cool," Ike said.

"No, I didn't. You know what's been weird, though?"

"What?"

"Not doing football camp. Usually we'd be starting up about now, when it's so fucking hot you feel like you're gonna die during drills. I used to hate it, I mean, I dreaded that shit every day, but I kind of miss it now." After practice he would shower and hurry to Kyle, still buzzing with adrenaline and hungry for Kyle's mouth, his ass, and the way his whole body would fall open under Stan's still-pounding heartbeat. Sometimes Kyle had insisted that Stan come directly from practice, and they'd get his bed so sweaty that they'd have to wash the sheets after showering together.

"You should go for a run or something," Ike said, and Stan snorted, unable to imagine ever having that much energy again.

Craig had been moved to a private room, and it was crowded with relatives, both sets of parents chattering away and sipping Tweak Brothers coffee while Tweek held the baby and Craig peered down at her, his chin on Tweek's shoulder. Craig seemed pretty out of it and Tweek was strangely calm, smiling serenely as he looked down at his daughter. She was wrapped in a blue and yellow striped blanket that looked homemade and very soft. Stan envied it, wanting one of those for Elway.

"Congrats, guys," Stan said as he came to stand beside Tweek. "Wow, she's really cute." Stan had never noticed how pixie-like Tweek's eyes were, but it was obvious on his daughter, even while she slept. Her ears were almost pointed, and she had Craig's pouty little mouth.

"Whoa," Ike said as Stan put the flowers he'd brought on the bedside table. "She's got way more hair than Elway." Her hair was a pretty, soft brown color, and Stan was annoyed by Ike's comment, because Elway's hair was still better, though scarce.

"That's from me," Tweek said. "Ah - I think?" It was true that Tweek had a lot of wild hair. Craig grinned, looking a bit drunk.

"Well?" Stan said. "Which name did you pick?"

"Artemis," Craig said.

"Really?" Stan wasn't sure if this was better or worse than the previous suggestions. "That's - cute."

Craig shrugged. "She looked more like a moon than a fruit," he said, stroking her hair.

"You feel okay?" Stan asked him.

"I'm extremely high right now, so yes," Craig said. "Thanks for the flowers."

"No problem. Man, she is super adorable, Craig."

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Craig asked. "Me and Tweek are super adorable, obviously."

"I can't believe something so small can freaking exist," Tweek said. He was speaking more softly than usual, still smiling a little. "Like, her hands, man," he said, finding her left hand within the blanket and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. "Her _fingerprints_. It's crazy!"

"How's Clyde?" Craig asked, looking up at Stan. "Have you heard anything?"

"He's walking around now," Stan said. "And the baby can breathe on his own, but they're still giving him oxygen, you know, to supplement, because his lungs are a little weak. They did that with Elway for just a few days, so maybe in a few days - maybe. Poor little Andy."

"I think it's Nathan now," Craig said.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah - Nathaniel Owen Black, last I heard." Craig shrugged. "Clyde's a mess. Tell him to come see me, though. He could hold Artie, you know. For practice."

"Are you sure you don't want to call her Missy?" Craig's mother asked, walking over to the bed.

"Ugh, yes," Craig said. "That sounds so common. Artie or Art. That's all I'll accept."

"Have you guys seen Butters?" Tweek asked. "I'm kinda worried about him!"

"He's okay," Stan said. "He's upset that Kenny's not with him, but Kenny thinks that'd be more trouble than it's worth, considering Butters' parents and how they - are."

"That's ridiculous," Craig said. "Kenny needs to get over himself. I know they make him feel like trailer trash, but Butters needs him. I'd be a disaster without my Tweek," Craig said, titling his chin so he could kiss Tweek's neck. "He changed a diaper and everything. My hero."

"It wasn't hard!" Tweek said, blushing, and he smushed his face against Craig's before nuzzling at the baby in a similar fashion. "Jesus," he said, "She smells really good."

"It's not that simple with Kenny and Butters," Stan said, though he didn't really want to get into it again. "Have you guys seen Wendy today?"

"Yeah, she was in here earlier, ogling our infant," Craig said. "She's starting to get as impatient as Cartman. He'll be forty weeks on Saturday. Also, she mentioned you were raving about a witch being responsible for all of this after all. Has fatherhood driven you back to the bottle, Marsh?"

"No," Stan said, scowling. "Look, it's complicated. Ask Henrietta Biggle about it sometime. I don't feel like explaining it to people who apparently don't believe me anyway."

"I'd believe that, actually," Craig said. "'Cause doesn't she look like a little fairy creature or something?" He rubbed Artemis' cheek and she opened her eyes, whining. Her eye color was a mix of Tweek's pale blue and Craig's dark gray that made her eyes look almost purple. "See?" Craig said, grinning. "She looks like something you'd find sleeping in the middle of a giant flower in a magical wood."

"Whoa, you are high," Ike said, laughing.

"Fuck off, Broflovski," Craig said. "Go play with toy cars or something. What are you even doing here?"

"My brother is still here with his baby," Ike said. "I'm being supportive."

"They haven't let Kyle go home yet?" Tweek asked, looking up at Stan. "Why not?"

"His body temperature has been really weird," Stan said. "It's high, almost feverish. They can't figure out why."

"Jesus," Craig said. "I suppose none of us are out of the woods yet."

"No, Kyle's out of the woods," Stan said, determined to believe this. "He's just having some minor - complications. It's nothing."

Stan hurried back to Kyle after that, and Ike left to get them some breakfast. Kyle was speaking with Nan and still holding Elway, who had fallen asleep.

"How's your temperature?" Stan asked, looking from Kyle to Nan.

"It's fine," Kyle said.

"Still high," Nan said. "One hundred and two."

"That's nothing," Kyle said. "I'll take a shower and it'll go right down. It's just from being pressed up against this little bundle all the time," he said, giving Elway a kiss. "So?" he said as Stan settled in beside him. "How's Craig?"

"He's pretty in love with that baby," Stan said. "Talking about how she's from a magical flower or something. I think he's making Tweek do all the work, though."

"Of course," Kyle said, snorting. "Craig probably lies back and naps while Tweek holds the baby up to his nipples. Poor little Plum!"

"She seemed pretty happy," Stan said. "And she's called Artemis, not Plum. Artie for short."

"Artie, oh my God," Kyle said, laughing. "I hope Butters will give his daughter a more feminine name than the rest of us. She'll be all girly and blond, I'm sure. Do you think her hair will curl?" Kyle asked, rubbing his fingers through Elway's little patch of red fluff.

"I hope so," Stan said, and Kyle grinned at him. Stan held Elway while Kyle had a shower, and when she woke and fussed he calmed her with a Katy Perry song that was stuck in his head. It had been playing on the speaker system at work when he left. She smiled a little when he really got into it, and Stan cried all over her, grateful to have seen it. He fell asleep almost as soon as Kyle returned to change her diaper and walk her around the room, and he dreamed he was walking through a magical wood with Elway strapped to his chest, making up names for the flowers they encountered and keeping her well clear of them, because many of them looked exotically poisonous.

A few days later, Stan was suffering through a shift, barely able to keep his eyes open as that same Katy Perry song blared overhead, when he got a text message that made the hours he had left at work feel much lighter on his shoulders:

_Clyde's baby allowed out of NICU. Haven't seen Clyde yet but Token looks so happy. They're back to calling him Andy btw_

The message was from Wendy, but Kyle was the first one Stan called when he went on break. He could hear Elway crying in the background, and the sound gave him a sense of primal panic that made him want to race for his car and get back to the hospital.

"Everything okay with her?" Stan asked.

"Yes, she's just having a checkup," Kyle said. "Can you bring me some Icy Hot cream? My back is killing me."

"Yeah. Really good about Clyde's baby, isn't it?"

"I'm very happy for them," Kyle said, his tone a little clipped. "Stan - I've got to go, Nan's going to help me give her a bath."

"Oh, okay." Stan hated it when he missed her baths. He hated missing anything, even the crying jags. He liked to be there to comfort her after the doctors had upset her with all their measuring tools. Even if Kyle tried to sing her the same Marley songs, it didn't work as well as when Stan did it. Stan was secretly proud about that, and suspected that Kyle could tell.

Stan went to Kyle's house the following afternoon to pack fresh clothes for him and Elway, who'd accumulated quite a wardrobe of tiny jumpers, most of them gifts. Kyle had tired of hospital gowns and mostly wore Stan's old button-up flannels, which made breastfeeding easy. He refused to wear pants, claiming they made him too hot, so Stan made sure to pack plenty of presentable, loose-fitting boxers. Stan was heading down to the kitchen with the bag, hoping to find something Sheila had baked recently that Kyle would like, when he got a text from Wendy. Still waiting to be constantly preoccupied with her own baby, she'd been keeping everyone updated on the others.

_Butters in labor already called kenny_

Stan was glad to hear it, because the sooner Butters had the baby and both were in the clear, health-wise, the sooner Kenny could be reunited with them. He scoured the kitchen and found only some stale pumpernickel bread. He was on his way out the door when he got another text, also from Wendy.

_Could you please stop on your way here and get Eric some mint chocolate chip ice cream? He's feeling really low._

Stan rolled his eyes, but he did sympathize with Cartman, who was a week overdue and would probably have to be induced, something the doctors were wary about trying since it would be unprecedented. At the store, Stan picked up Cartman's ice cream and picked up some of the peanut-butter coated pretzels Kyle had been into recently. Nan had cautioned him about his diet, because Elway was almost a month old and Kyle had only lost seven pounds, but Kyle ignored her. He said he deserved to eat whatever he wanted while he was forced to remain in the hospital, and Stan tended to agree. Recently he'd begun to feel stirrings of arousal when they were in the hospital bed together, especially when Kyle moaned appreciatively as Stan rubbed Icy Hot on his sore back, but Kyle showed no signs of wanting sex anytime soon. He still scoffed in disbelief at Stan's erections if they showered together, and it had gotten to the point where Stan actively avoiding showering with Kyle, because it hurt his feelings when Kyle stayed soft.

At the hospital, Stan went to Cartman's room first, because the ice cream was melting, and because Wendy was more likely to have an update on Butters' situation than Kyle. He ran into Wendy before he could reach Cartman's room. She looked relatively awful. Her hair was pulled back in a wild, unattractive ponytail, and her face looked thin, the same ratty sweater coat she'd been wearing since Cartman was admitted hanging a little more loosely from her shoulders.

"Have you been eating?" Stan asked when they hugged.

"What?" she said. "Oh, I don't know. Is it mint chocolate chip?" She reached for the bag and peeked inside. "Good, perfect. Stan, he's so depressed. And honestly, so am I."

"Because the baby hasn't come yet?" Stan asked, and Wendy nodded.

"We've tried everything," she said. "All this stuff that's supposed to encourage labor. Walking around, red raspberry leaf tea, sex." She groaned and tugged her sweater around herself more tightly. "That was humiliating for all involved parties. He couldn't even get hard for me, Stan." She looked like she might cry for a moment. "He said it's because he doesn't feel attractive, but what if he's bored of me already? What if he sees me like a mother figure now, just this lady who's taken the place of Liane?"

"That's crazy," Stan said, patting her shoulder. "Of course he's not bored of you, he's just too stressed to get into - it." Stan considered telling her that Kyle hadn't gotten hard since the baby was born, and decided against it. "But it won't be much longer, right? It can't be."

"What if ours is the baby who doesn't make it?" Wendy asked, her eyes filling. "I wasn't strict enough about his diet. Especially lately, I've been letting him eat whatever because he's so sad. Your baby is so precious, and Craig's is like this little angel, how the hell'd that happen? And now even Butters has beat us, and I want my baby, Stan, it's not fair."

"Shh, c'mere," Stan said, holding her while she cried. Of course Wendy and Cartman were viewing this as a competition that they were losing, but her fears were legitimate. Stan hoped they wouldn't have to induce Cartman; it seemed dangerous.

"I'm a mess, don't listen to me," Wendy said, sniffling. "I saw Clyde's baby, too, have you seen him?"

"Not since the NICU," Stan said. "He's cute?"

"Really cute, and he has the tiniest little cry," Wendy said. "Look at me, look how pathetic I am. I'm jealous of someone's premature baby. We should be glad Kinglet wasn't early, right? Right?"

"Yes," Stan said. "I'm sure she'll be fine, you guys are just - it's understandable that you're ready to see her. C'mon, let's eat some ice cream. You look like you could use some."

"I've got no appetite," Wendy said, drying her face with the ends of her sleeves. "But I guess I should eat something. God, I don't know what to do. I feel like we've been held hostage for a month."

Stan was surprised to find Liane at Cartman's bedside when they entered the room, though he wasn't sure why. She was reading _The Hobbit_ to him, and Cartman was dozing, looking irritable.

"Look, Eric," Wendy said. "Stan was nice enough to bring you some ice cream. I think it's at the perfect stage in terms of meltedness, just the way you like it." She got a plastic spoon from a box of them on the table beside Cartman's bed, which was littered with wrappers and drink cups.

"That was very sweet of you, Stan," Liane said as Cartman sat up and accepted the ice cream, stabbing at it miserably with a spoon.

"Yeah, thanks," he muttered, and Stan waited for some further comment on how Kyle's daywalker baby was doing or a complaint about the fact that Kenny's white trash offspring was about to beat his baby into the world, but Cartman said nothing, just ate ice cream in silence, the carton resting on his giant stomach. Wendy sighed and Liane gave her a hug from behind, which took Stan off guard, especially when Wendy turned to smile at Liane tiredly.

"You should eat something, too, Wends," Liane said. "How about I go home and make another batch of pizza bread?"

"That sounds good, thanks," Wendy said, she nudged Cartman's arm. "Pizza bread?"

"Whatever," Cartman muttered, shoveling ice cream in his mouth. Liane and Wendy exchanged a look.

"So," Stan said when Liane was gone. Wendy was sitting on the bed, staring at the ice cream while Cartman ate it. She didn't look hungry, just dazed. "Hanging in there?" Stan said when he could think of nothing else. Cartman gave him a hateful look.

"She doesn't want to come out because she loves me so much," Cartman said. "That's what my mom says. And I'm like, 'ey, baby. You can love me from out here, goddammit.'"

"Every baby is different," Wendy said, rubbing Cartman's meaty arm. "Kinglet is just doing things at her own pace. She's not going to let anyone tell her when she's ready to come out."

"Well, I'm her father, goddammit, and I'm telling her that she's ready." He groaned and put his hand on his stomach. "She's moving," he said. "I consider that back talk, kid."

"Let me feel," Wendy said, and she leaned onto Cartman's stomach, resting her cheek there. "Young lady," Wendy said, rubbing the spot where Stan could actually see the baby moving, "We would really like to get going here if you feel like you could swing it." She kissed Cartman's stomach, closing her eyes, and for a moment she looked like she'd actually fall asleep there. Cartman continued eating.

"I guess Butters is probably still in surgery," Stan said. "What time did he go in?"

"I don't know," Wendy said, sitting up. "I paid one of his nurses to report to me, and she said he was having contractions and they were prepping him. That's the last I heard."

"How much did you pay?" Cartman asked.

"Forty bucks."

"Jesus, Wendy, that's Kinglet's money! Let Kenny pay to spy on his own broke ass kid!"

Stan couldn't take much more of either of them, so he excused himself and slipped away a few minutes later, declining Wendy's somewhat desperate-sounding invitation for him to stay and eat pizza bread with them. He went to Kyle's room and wasn't too surprised to find Kenny there, pacing near Kyle's bed, but he was taken off guard when he saw Karen and Carol McCormick seated on the little couch by the door. Karen was holding a big bouquet of daises and Carol was clutching a quilt with a ribbon around it. Kyle was feeding Elway, and he looked glad to see Stan.

"Have you heard anything?" Kenny asked, rushing Stan at the door.

"I haven't," Stan said. "But Wendy texted me about an hour ago, and apparently that was when they were getting him prepped for surgery. He's probably out now if you want to come with me to check."

"Give them a minute," Kyle said. "Butters will be groggy, and his parents will probably be less combative if they've had some time to coo over the baby themselves."

"I can't imagine Mr. Stotch cooing," Karen said. Carol was visibly nervous beside her, fidgeting and fussing with the bow around the quilt.

"I know they don't think much of us, but I sure hope they'll let me at least take a look at that little baby," Carol said. "I'm real good with babies."

"She's Kenny's baby, too," Karen said, rubbing her mom's back. "They have to let him see her."

"Do you know what Butters is going to name her?" Stan asked, hopping up onto the bed with Kyle. Elway had her eyes open while she nursed, and she was looking around the room a little apprehensively, not sure about all the new voices. Stan cupped his hand around her and rubbed her arm with his thumb, making kissy faces at her until she was focused only on him.

"I don't know," Kenny said, still pacing, his hands tucked into his arm pits. He was wearing his soap factory coveralls, and he smelled like a freshly used sink in a gas station bathroom. "He hasn't told me what he wants to name her. He wants it to be a surprise. Fuck, I feel like I don't even remember what he looks like. I haven't seen him in over a month. I haven't even _talked_ to him, they took away his phone-"

"Kenny, sit down," Kyle said. "Take a breath."

"I can't," Kenny said. "I can't breathe, I don't want to breathe. I just have to be with him, but I - it's been so long that I'm freaking out at the thought of even seeing him, and our _baby_-"

"Dude, stop," Karen said. "Butters loves you a lot. It's gonna be okay."

"Come sit down, baby," Carol said, scooting over and patting the spot on the couch between her and Karen. "You're getting all worked up."

"Is that the quilt you made?" Stan asked Carol when Kenny continued to pace, ignoring his mother.

"Oh - yes," she said, smoothing her hand over it. "I've been working on it since we found out. I used some of Kenny's old baby clothes on the patches, and some baby blankets we'd had for Karen, like this one here, you see the little rocking horse?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "That's really cute." It was actually a very nicely made quilt, much more professional-looking than he'd expected.

"Can you burp her?" Kyle asked when Elway turned away from his nipple, whining. "She's been really gassy today." Kyle pulled his shirt over his chest hurriedly once Stan had Elway, and he fished around on the table beside the bed until he found a burp cloth for Stan's shoulder. Stan looked up from patting Elway's back and saw that Kenny had stopped pacing. He was staring at them, looking heartbroken.

"You guys are so good at this already," he said while Kyle stretched and yawned. "I know I won't be."

"Kenny, stop," Karen said.

"You worry too much," Carol said. "Being a parent comes naturally."

Kenny's mouth quirked and he turned away, as if withholding some comment about how it didn't always come so naturally to her, or to his father. Stan and Kyle exchanged a look.

"Cartman is so miserable," Stan said, hoping this would make Kenny feel better. "He's as big as a house."

"At least he has Wendy there to cater to his every whim," Kenny said. "Do you know what I would give to do that for Butters? But he wouldn't even ask for anything, even from me, because he doesn't want to be a nuisance, even when he's about to have a kid. He's afraid to ask for anything from them, and they don't offer him anything but their disapproval-"

"Kenny," Kyle said. "Calm down. You're upsetting the baby."

Elway was only making minimal noises of irritation, but Stan didn't dispute this, because Kenny stopped pacing and took a deep breath.

"Sorry," he said, walking to the bed. "Sorry, El Camino."

"Do _not_ call her that!" Kyle said, and he gave Stan a horrified look when he laughed.

"What'd they used to call John Elway?" Kenny asked, grinning. "The General? The Comeback Kid?"

"You're not calling her either of those, either!" Kyle said. He took her from Stan after she'd spit up twice onto the burp rag. "You're Ellie, aren't you?" he said, wiping her mouth with his shirt.

"Has he called her bubbeh yet?" Kenny asked.

"Not yet," Stan said. "I have, though."

"It's true," Kyle said. "He just does it to annoy me."

"I do not! I've always wanted to call you bubbeh, and you won't let me."

"'Cause that's what my mom calls me, dude!" Kyle turned back to Kenny. "He called me honey the other day. What do you make of that?"

"I kind of can't believe he hasn't been calling you honey all this time, in secret," Kenny said. He seemed genuinely cheerful for a moment, then his face fell. "I call Butters cupcake. He calls me all kinds of stuff, or he used to. You know he never thought of his father as 'Daddy,' even when he was little?"

"Alright," Stan said, not liking where this seemed to be headed. "Let's go see if we can visit with Butters."

He kissed Kyle and Elway goodbye and headed toward Butters' room with the McCormicks. Stan felt like he was one of them, part of a not-good-enough family, though he knew he couldn't really understand what that was like. His father had embarrassed him before, but the Marshes had never been the kind of family that people like the Stotches warned their children against.

Kenny took the flowers from Karen as they approached Butters' room. His father was outside talking to a stooped old lady who must have been Butters' grandmother and a middle-aged couple Stan didn't recognize. They were all smiling, so the surgery must have gone well. Stan was a little disturbed to see that Butters' father was wearing scrubs and had a surgical mask hanging around his neck. He would have thought Butters would have wanted his mother with him during the operation.

Kenny loitered nearby until Butters' father noticed him, and the others turned, too. Stan wanted to take the flowers from Kenny, so embarrassed for him that he felt it like a cracked rib. The daisies were sweet but cheap-looking, obviously picked from a field rather than cultivated in a greenhouse.

"You," Butters' father said. "What do you want?"

"What does he want?" Karen said, scoffing. "He wants to see his kid."

"Sweetie, calm down," Carol said softly, hanging back with the quilt hugged to her chest.

"Please," Kenny said. "_Sir_-"

"Don't insult me by pretending you respect me," Mr. Stotch said. "I know pretty well that you don't, considering how you broke into my house and took advantage of my son. You're lucky he survived his C-section, 'cause you'd better believe I'd be coming after you for murder charges if he hadn't."

"He's okay?" Kenny said weakly. "And the baby?" Stan took the flowers from him gently, unable to stand how ridiculous they looked in the face of Butters' father's rage. The other relatives who were gathered in front of the hospital room door didn't look much happier.

"This is the boy, Steve?" the old woman said. "The vagabond?"

"Yes, Mother," Mr. Stotch said. "I'm surprised he has the nerve to show his face here after disappearing for a month."

"You wouldn't let me near him!" Kenny said. "You hate me! What was I supposed to do, beg?"

"Butters would have come to you if he needed you for anything other than whatever filthy acts you two did together in his bedroom while my wife and I were asleep across the hall," Mr. Stotch said. "But he didn't need you, did he? He needs us, because we can provide for him, care for him and his child. You are a teenage delinquent, and you can go back to that flea-ridden hovel where you come from, because my son doesn't need you. He doesn't even want you anymore, or your pathetic offerings." He sneered at the daisies, and at Mrs. McCormick, who was shrinking in on herself like a little girl, Karen's arm around her shoulders. Karen was tiny but fierce looking, and for a moment Stan was afraid she'd surge forward and hit Mr. Stotch, but she didn't. Kenny did.

Stan felt helpless, frozen with shock, holding daisies as the women shrieked and the man who'd been standing with the group pulled Kenny off of Butters' father. Kenny was red-faced and teary-eyed, spitting curses that Stan could barely interpret.

"Security!" the old lady was shouting. "Security, help us, please!"

"Kenny, stop!" Karen said, joining Stan in trying to grab for him as the man dragged him away.

"Don't let him go, Bud!" Mr. Stotch said, panting. "Not until the cops get here. You little bastard! You might have broke my nose – don't think for a minute that I won't press charges!"

Kenny was pressed to the floor by Bud, and Stan heard him crying over and over again that it wasn't fair. Carol was crying, too, and Karen was attempting to comfort her when the door to Butters' room opened and his mother poked her head out.

"What on earth is going on?" she asked. "Stephen? Bud?"

"It's alright, Linda," the old woman said, holding her hand to her chest. "Here they come."

Security arrived, and Stan and Karen tried to speak to them, to explain what had happened, but they were brushed aside and told to stand back. Kenny had snot and tears pouring down his face, and he refused to look at anyone as he was led away in handcuffs. Stan's ears were ringing like he'd just taken a few blows to the head himself, and he wanted to bolt into Butters' room to comfort him, and to run after Kenny to liberate him, but he couldn't really do anything but listen to Carol crying and Karen cursing under her breath as Mr. Stotch and his family gave their statements to the police.

"I should have pressed charges against that boy months ago," Mr. Stotch said, holding his bloody nose. "He's a menace in this town, a predator! I'm sure he has a record."

"Oh, Jesus," Karen whispered, because Kenny did, for pot possession when he was fifteen. He'd gotten off with community service and probation, but it was a five year probation, and Stan remembered something about a year-long jail sentence if he was arrested after he'd turned eighteen.

"It is broken?" Mr. Stotch asked as a nurse examined his nose. Stan wanted to kill him, and the old lady, too, all of them. He had to turn away, gathering Carol and Karen with him.

"We've got to go down to the station," Karen said. "Shit, how much do you think his bail will be?"

"I don't know," Carol said, wiping her eyes with her palms. "Oh, Kenny, Jesus. I didn't know he was so unhinged."

"He's been upset about being kept away from Butters from the start," Stan said. "And he works like, eighteen hours a day. I don't think he's been sleeping, he hasn't been in his right mind—"

"They won't care about any of that," Karen said, her voice wavering. "They'll just look at him like he's my daddy and Kevin all over again."

Stan offered to drive Karen and Carol to the police station, but Karen refused. She seemed embarrassed, and was a little short with Stan as she gathered her mother to her and headed for the elevators.

"We shouldn't have tried to go to his room," she said, giving Stan a look. "I knew that was a bad idea."

"Could you try to get this to Kenny's baby?" Carol asked, her hands shaking as she held out the quilt. "I really wanted her to have it." She'd hugged it to her during the ordeal, and the bow was crooked and wrinkled, halfway hanging off. Stan nodded and took it from her.

"I'll make sure she gets it," he said, his voice raw. Carol nodded and stepped into the elevator with Karen. "And if Kenny needs bail—"

"No," Karen said sharply as the elevator doors slid shut.

Stan walked down the hall with the quilt tucked under his arm, still holding the wilted daisies in his other hand. He wanted a do-over, like when they were kids and Butters' eye was somehow okay despite the hell they'd put him through. When he reached Kyle's room Kyle was in the middle of an argument with some nurse who wasn't Nan, something about x-rays. Elway was tucked against his chest, awake and listening as if she wanted to see how the disagreement would play out.

"Stan?" Kyle said when he noticed him adding the daisies to a bouquet that had been sent from New York by one of Kyle's aunts. Their stems were fragile and bent easily when Stan tried to press them in with the other flowers, roses and lilies in loud pinks. "What are you doing?" Kyle asked. "Where's Kenny? What's going on?"

Stan told him, and Kyle said nothing as he listened, hugging Elway to his chest more firmly. The nurse seemed to be listening, too, and when Stan was finished she slipped out of the room, probably to confirm this gossip about an arrest in the maternity ward.

"My dad," Kyle said, "Call my dad. He's not a criminal lawyer, but he'll know somebody. They can't just – Kenny is an idiot, but no fucking way is he going to jail for real. No. I won't – it can't happen, Stan."

"Here," Stan said, removing the bow from the quilt. The optimistic, crumpled sight of it made his eyes wet. He put the bow aside and spread the quilt out over Kyle, pulling it up so that the border touched Elway's pink blanket. "Keep this warm for Butters," he said.

"Where are you going?" Kyle asked, his voice pinching up.

"To call your dad, I guess."

"Do it from the bed," Kyle said, scooting over to make room. "Please?"

Stan nodded and climbed in with them, sliding his legs under the quilt. He put his arms around Kyle and spread his hand out over Elway, burying his face against Kyle's neck.

"I would have done worse," Stan said, his voice muffled against Kyle's skin. "If someone had tried to keep me away from you and her."

"I'd never let that happen," Kyle said. He turned and and locked eyes with Stan, nudging his nose against Stan's cheek. "I want to make a will," he said.

"What?" Stan said, horrified. "What – is it – did the nurse tell you something, is something wrong?"

"They think they need to remove my appendix," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "It's no big deal. It'll be a pain in the ass, a longer stay in this goddamn hospital, but I don't want to make a will because I'm afraid I'll die from a routine appendectomy. I just – I want it written somewhere that I belong to you. That if anything happens to me, not just death, anything, everything I have is yours. I think as long as that's true I'll always be okay. They could bring you a pile of my bones and you'd fix me. But they'd have to bring me to you, right away, no one else."

Elway made a soft noise and they looked down to see that she'd drifted to sleep, a spit bubble popping between her fat little lips. Kyle brushed the back of his index finger over her ruddy cheeks.

"I want a contract that says we belong to you," Kyle said. "And that nobody else alive can lay claim to either of us, not even a little."

"So marry me," Stan said, closing his eyes against Kyle's cheek, not sure that how he answered would matter, because it was true that they'd been married in all the important ways for a long time.

"Okay," Kyle said. Stan hadn't expected to feel so relieved. He opened his eyes and caught only a flash of Kyle's before he looked down shyly. Kyle leaned against Stan's chest to hide his tears, and Stan cradled Elway so that they were both holding her, one arm each. They sat like that for a long time, Kyle sniffling and Elway sleeping, Stan still shaking from the scene outside Butters' room, and by the time he reached for his phone to call Kyle's father he felt like they'd already renewed their unspoken vows.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I don't know I feel about this chapter! But here it is - let me know what you think. Thank you so much to all who are reading and for the reviews. Working on a long mpreg story feels a bit insane at times, so your feedback sustains me. I'm going out of town tomorrow and I'll be back on June 1, so the (big) epilogue will probably be up around June 10 or so? That's my predication, anyway. Wish me luck, because there are a lot of bears where I'm going ...

* * *

><p>A day before Kyle was scheduled to have his inflamed appendix removed, Stan was lying in Kyle's hospital bed and trying to stay awake. Kyle was on his feet, a blue and white flannel that used to belong to Stan hanging half open over some boxers that were slightly too small. He had Elway in a sling that Stan had recently gone out and bought for her, because apparently they were way overdue for a sling. Kyle's hair was sort of enormous and limp at the same time, and he was pacing near the window, humming under his breath as the baby drifted in and out of sleep. Stan realized blearily, half-asleep himself, that he wanted to fuck Kyle very badly. It was the first time this had been true since the baby came, and Stan felt elated and depressed. He remembered this feeling from the summer after freshman year, when Kyle had been sent away to Hebrew camp for two weeks. It was the mildest but most unbearable sort of longing: knowing he would have Kyle, and that he would have to wait.<p>

"I need to talk to you about something," Kyle said when he turned.

"Yeah?" Stan said. "What?"

"Liposuction," Kyle said. Stan groaned.

"Dude, no," he said. "I love the way you look. I was just thinking about how-"

"Oh, stop trying to make me feel better!" Kyle said. Elway whined; Stan wasn't sure whose side she was on. "I've been doing some research. Liposuction would remove the C-section scar and the scar from the appendectomy, and this - other business." He touched his stomach and turned toward the window.

"It's dangerous," Stan said. "And unnatural. Trust me, dude, I'm way more attracted to your, uh. Natural body."

"Well, I feel repulsive," Kyle said. "And what, I'm just going to have tits for the rest of my life? After she stops breastfeeding, I want them gone."

"That's understandable," Stan said, though he was saddened by this. "But - let's just cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I'm on that bridge!" Kyle said, turning toward him again. "I have nothing to do but lie around thinking about how unwieldy I've become. And about my next meal, and how that meal will make me more unwieldy."

"Come here," Stan said, holding his arm out.

"It's just something we need to plan for," Kyle said. "I still have about a thousand dollars saved up, but I'll have to use some of that for school-related expenses and, God, the cost of gas alone! And I won't be able to work while I'm going to school and taking care of Ellie, and, so. What I'm saying, Stan, is that it's something we'd have to save for. My cosmetic surgeries. I mean." His lip trembled. "I guess I'm asking if you're willing to pay for them."

"Kyle," Stan said, scooting forward until he could touch Kyle's hip. Kyle was standing near the bed, one arm hugged around Elway as she dozed in the sling. "Sit here with me for a minute," Stan said. "Let me show you something."

"What?" Kyle asked, wary, but he got into the bed. Elway woke as Kyle settled in under Stan's arm, but only for a moment. The little sigh she pushed out before falling back to sleep made Stan and Kyle grin at each other. "What do you have to show me?" Kyle asked, whispering.

"Just - this," Stan said, and he cupped Kyle's face, kissing him on the lips. He was gentle but so hungry for it, and he hoped Kyle would feel it. Kyle shivered as Stan licked into his mouth, slow.

"Don't," Kyle said softly, but he was smiling when Stan pulled back.

"I miss you," Stan said. He put his hand on Kyle's neck and rubbed his thumb over Kyle's pulse, feeling it grow faster. "I want you," he said, whispering this in Kyle's ear so that the baby wouldn't hear.

"How could you?" Kyle asked, his lips shaking again. "I'm a used vessel. I'm a party balloon that somebody popped."

"You're fucking gorgeous," Stan said, dragging his fingers through Kyle's hair, which needed a washing. "I love just watching you walk around the room with her. You're so capable, dude, and it's hot, okay? Also, your ass when you walk, in those boxers, with your shirt riding up in back, dude, you're killing me."

"Stop getting so worked up!" Kyle said, but he was fighting another smile, chewing his lip. "We're not not alone." They both glanced down at Elway, but she was sleeping with her face turned toward Kyle's chest, oblivious.

"I know," Stan said. "I'm not doing anything." He rubbed Kyle's shoulder with his fingers, just lightly, and Kyle breathed out a long sigh that Stan felt against his cheek.

"Let's talk about something else," Kyle said, a blush spreading over his cheeks. "Um - have you been able to get in touch with Karen?"

"Nope," Stan said. "I think I'm going to stop by the house before my shift. I'm about to call the damn police station just to get someone to tell me what the hell's going on."

"I think stopping by the McCormick house is a better idea," Kyle said. "Has Wendy heard anything from the nurses she bribed?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "I think Butters is the furthest thing from her mind, though."

"Right, of course," Kyle said, looking down at Elway. Cartman had been diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and would be induced before the end of the day if he didn't begin to have contractions on his own. There were concerns about whether or not it would be possible to induce him without causing his water to break. Stan hugged Kyle more tightly and kissed his temple.

"I hate that you have to have surgery again tomorrow," Stan said.

"I'll be done in less than an hour," Kyle said. "At least you'll have the day off of work!"

"Yeah," Stan said, trying to feel excited about that. He was anxious about so many things that he had to keep rechecking the list that he kept at the back of his mind: Kenny's arrest, Butters' well-being, Kyle's appendix, and now Cartman and his baby. He could at least check little Andy Black off his list of immediate worries, though he was still fragile.

"Hey," Kyle said when Stan started to get up, thinking about a soda from the hallway vending machine that he'd probably sunk fifty bucks into in the past month. Kyle grinned when Stan leaned back onto the bed, and he put his lips against Stan's ear. "I miss you, too," he said, whispering. "And I want, yeah. Want you."

"How soon after your surgery can we-?" Stan asked, and Kyle's laugh had an awkward schoolboy quality.

"I'll ask Nan," he said. "Or Albright. That seems like more of an Albright question."

"She's doing your appendectomy?"

"No, but she's overseeing it," Kyle said. "We're her favorite patients ever," he said, nuzzling Elway, who was making half-awake gurgling noises. "Eek," Kyle said, rearing back. "Diaper change, I think. Can you?"

Kyle slipped into the bathroom to have shower while Stan took care of Elway, and Dr. Albright came in while Stan was doing the powdering, feeling clumsy and wishing Kyle or Sharon were there to oversee, because nine times out of ten they would brush Stan aside and take over.

"Is this too much?" he asked Albright, wiping some powder off while Elway writhed in complaint.

"I think you're okay," Albright said. "Where's Kyle?"

"He's taking a shower."

"Don't you work nights?" Albright asked as Stan diapered Elway. "When do you sleep?"

"Here and there," Stan said. Kyle had passed him the sling before heading in for his shower, and Stan eased Elway into it, supporting her weight with his arm as he tucked her to his chest. He didn't trust the sling one hundred percent, though the brand had flawless reviews on all the baby sites.

"I've scheduled Kyle's surgery for three o'clock tomorrow afternoon," Albright said. "I'm going to be there at the table in case any complications involving the womb come up."

"Do you think they will?" Stan asked.

"There's no telling," Albright said. She had her long hair up in a bun instead of the usual ponytail, and Stan found this disconcerting. "It does trouble me - I doubt this is purely a coincidence. It might be evidence of the womb edging the other organs out, so to speak."

"But it didn't do that when the baby was in it!" Stan said, clutching Elway closer. She was fidgeting and beginning to whine, wanting Kyle.

"Yes," Albright said. "And perhaps it is just a coincidence. But I want you to know that I'm not treating this like an entirely routine surgery."

"Kyle said it was no big deal," Stan said.

"Kyle isn't a doctor," Albright said. "Yet. He mentioned he wants to go into medicine?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "But, wait. Are you saying something terrible could happen? That the surgery is dangerous?"

"From the outside looking in, no," Albright said. "But since Kyle is a male who has just given birth and is requiring an appendectomy thirty days later, something no one has ever treated in known medical history, I'm not going to go forward as if it's 'no big deal.' That should be a comfort to you, really."

"Right," Stan said, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Make sure he doesn't eat anything six hours prior to the surgery," Albright said. "No fluids, either, except for very minimal amounts of water. He should pump as much milk as he can tonight, to sustain the baby while he's fasting and recovering. His supply will suffer from not eating. We can supplement with formula, of course."

Stan heard the shower turn off in the attached bathroom. Kyle wouldn't be happy with the formula supplementation. Stan tried to fixate on that and not what Albright had said about the potential dangers of what would normally be a routine surgery. He let Albright reach into the sling to give Elway a cursory examination.

"She's doing so well," Albright said. "If it were just her, I'd have sent you home weeks ago."

"How soon can Kyle go home after his appendix comes out?" Stan asked.

"If the surgery goes as we expect it to, he'll need pain management for about eight hours," Albright said. "Normally we'd let a patient leave roughly fifteen hours after the surgery, but we'll certainly want to keep Kyle for the remainder of the week, even if there are no immediate complications."

"How about physical activity?" Stan asked, his cheeks heating. "Um, walking, and. Stuff."

"He should be able to walk, slowly, the day after," Albright said.

"Okay," Stan said. He adjusted Elway in her sling, wishing that she wasn't looking up at him so sweetly while he asked this. "And, um. Other stuff. Intimate - stuff?"

"Oh." Albright put her chart down at glanced at Stan, then the baby. "Well, if you can find a moment of privacy, I'd say about a week after the surgery would be safe to do the more traditional intimate things. Nothing too elaborate."

"Right," Stan said, his face on fire. "So maybe we could go home that same week, and, uh. Okay, thanks."

The bathroom door opened and Kyle walked out, amid steam. He was wearing a fresh flannel and a new pair of boxers, and he had a towel wound around his head like a turban. Something about the fact that he was barefoot made Stan want to be on him.

"Hello!" Kyle said to Albright. "We were just talking about you."

"You were?" Albright said. "Why's that?"

"We were thinking you'd be better than Nan to ask about sex-related matters," Kyle said chirpily, taking Elway from her sling. She cooed at the sight of him and he hugged her to his chest, kissing her face.

"I already asked, dude," Stan said, feeling stupid, and doubly so with the empty sling sagging against his chest.

"Oh," Kyle said. He looked at Albright. "So?"

"I told him it will be about a week," Albright said. She was giving them a look as if she had some other information for them and wasn't sure if they would be receptive to it or not. "You know," she said. "I think we do need to get you out of the hospital sooner rather than later, as soon as I feel confident about your recovery from this surgery."

"I couldn't agree more!" Kyle said, brightening.

"I think you two are a little overdue for a taste of real life," Albright said, and she smiled at them strangely before leaving.

"What did she mean by that?" Kyle asked when she was gone. Elway was whining and fidgeting in his arms.

"I don't know," Stan said, though he did. "Why's she fussing?" he asked, touching Elway's back.

"She wants to eat," Kyle said, and he groaned. "I'm so fucking sore. It's like getting my nipples pierced for ten minutes straight."

"Do you want to pump?" Stan asked. "I could feed her from the bottle-"

"No, she needs to eat now," Kyle said. He went to the bed and climbed up onto it. Stan followed him there, starting to feel a kind of familiar blurry distortion at the corners of his eyes, wondering when he could sleep. He winced along with Kyle when the baby latched on.

"Can't we get you some cream or something?" Stan asked.

"I tried that the other night when you were at work," Kyle said, still wincing a little as Elway sucked away happily. "She didn't like it. The smell made her cry, and she wouldn't latch for a few hours after. I don't want to traumatize her."

"Me either," Stan said, though he felt terrible, and too tired to come up with any other ideas. He took off the sling, climbed onto the bed and put his head on Kyle's thigh, which was still warm and fragrant with soap from the shower. Kyle sighed and pet Stan's hair.

"We're so lucky, really," he said, but he sounded tired, too.

Stan slept for as long as he could, heady with the smell of Kyle's skin, and he woke up embarrassed, because Sheila and Gerald were in the room and Stan was clinging to Kyle's leg in a vaguely impure fashion. He realized drowsily that he wanted someone to put him in a sling and hum to him while he slept, and that he wanted that someone to be Kyle.

"Stanley, wake up," Sheila said, though he already was, sitting up at Kyle's side. "We've got some lunch for you." Sheila was holding Elway, who peered up at her with nervous amazement as usual. It was the bright red beehive, Stan suspected. Kyle was eating a sub sandwich, shredded bits of iceberg lettuce dropping down onto his shirt. Stan collected them for him before rising to claim his own sub from Gerald.

"You look beat," Gerald said as Stan unwrapped it.

"Of course he does," Kyle said. "He's got to go back to work in, what? Five hours?"

Stan shrugged, because he didn't know what time it was. Day, was all he could determine. "I'm okay," he said. He was starving, and the sandwich was good. That was enough to lift his spirits as he chewed it, walking over toward Elway. She whined and tried to get to him.

"Let your father eat!" Sheila scolded, smooching her. Elway cried and struggled harder against her grip.

"I could wear the sling," Stan said, his mouth full.

"And drop crumbs down onto the baby?" Sheila said. "I don't think so. Shh, bubbehleh!" she said, giving Elway a gentle bounce. "Your parents need a break."

"Mom's going to help you take care of her while I'm in surgery," Kyle said to Stan. "Since you'll be tired from work."

"Good," Stan said, and he found that he meant it. He was already and always tired from work. "Thanks, Sheila."

"Of course!" she said. "And maybe after all this new hoopla is over they'll let you come home with us, bubbeh." She was speaking to Kyle now. He glanced at Stan, his cheeks full of sandwich.

"Um," Kyle said after he'd swallowed. "Mom, you know. I guess we haven't really talked about it, but we're probably going to live at Stan's house. Me and Ellie."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Sheila said. "The crib is at our house, and I work from home. It makes more sense for you to live with us." She said so as if it was decided.

"My sister's home all the time," Stan said. "She can help if we need-"

"That girl!" Sheila said. "Are you crazy? She's about as gentle as a swarm of angry bees! I'm not having my granddaughter exposed to that harshness."

"She's not that bad," Kyle said before Stan could. "And anyway, it doesn't matter, because me and Stan will be with Elway all the time. He'll watch her when I'm in Fort Collins for class, and I'll watch her while Stan is at work."

"And when will Stan sleep?" Gerald asked. "You two are being supported by a nursing staff and he already looks like he's going to collapse any minute."

"I'm okay," Stan said. It felt less true every time he said it. "We'll figure it out."

"What exactly, may I ask, have you got against living with us?" Sheila asked. Elway was crying harder now, and Kyle got up to retrieve her.

"Nothing," Kyle said. He took Elway from his mother and put her head on his shoulder, rubbing her back. "We're just hoping Shelly will move out soon so we can use her room for a nursery. Ike will be there for at least six more years."

"Then why are you acting like Shelley will be helping you look after the baby if you're hoping she'll move out?" Sheila was getting worked up, and she slapped Gerald's hand away when he came over to try to calm her.

"Mom, God!" Kyle said. "I just want to get through this surgery tomorrow, and pump some goddamn breast milk so she can have something to eat while I'm out of it, okay? Can I just focus on that?"

"Oh, so we're back to avoiding any discussions of the future?" Sheila said. "I suppose you still refuse to tell me which religion you're going to raise her with?"

"Maybe Buddhism," Kyle said dryly. Elway was wailing, not responding to Kyle's attempts to soothe her. Stan walked over to try, easing her out of Kyle's arms. "Mom, you've upset her," Kyle said.

"She doesn't know what we're talking about!" Sheila said. "And I'm very disappointed in you, Kyle. I thought Judaism meant something to you."

"It does!" Kyle said. "But right now all I can think about is how bad my nipples hurt, how much I don't want to be anesthetized again, and the fact that my baby is squalling, alright? Shhh," he said to Elway, stroking her hair while Stan cuddled her. "Don't ask me to make that decision right now," Kyle said when she'd quieted a little.

"I'm only asking you to think about it," Sheila said. Her voice was a little unsteady, and she had her chin tilted up as she walked toward the door. "C'mon, Gerald," she said. "We wouldn't want to further upset this delicate balance of denial."

"Boys," Gerald said, sighing as he watched Sheila breeze out of the room. "I really wish you'd reconsider and come live with us. It would mean a lot to her."

"I don't want my baby raised in this contentious environment," Kyle said. "Me and Mom fight. It's just what we do. Stan doesn't fight with his parents."

"Sharon and Randy fight," Gerald said. "Sometimes," he added, giving Stan an apologetic look.

"They don't even do it around me," Stan said, which wasn't strictly true, because if they were all in the car together and a parking dilemma of any sort arose, a bitter fight would usually break out. "Dude, please," he said to Gerald. "Let's just think about Kyle getting through tomorrow, okay?"

"Of course I will," Kyle said. He touched Stan's cheek. "Are you worried about that? Don't be, it's nothing."

"We'll be here for you," Gerald said. He walked over to hug Kyle tightly, moaning a little as they clasped at each other. "I can't wait to see you walk out of here," Gerald said when he pulled back. "Wherever you go afterward."

"Thanks, Dad," Kyle said. "And thanks for the sandwiches."

"I'll go calm your mother down," Gerald said, and touched Elway's cheek, making her go still and give him a long, curious stare. "We'll be back in a few hours, I expect."

"It's not like I don't want her to be a Jew," Kyle said, and he glanced at Stan nervously.

"We'll talk later," Gerald said. He tousled Kyle's hair, then Stan's, and left.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Kyle said, grabbing for Stan's free hand as soon as his father was gone. "We'll let her decide. We'll tell her about both of our religions, bring her to the different services, and she can pick when she's old enough."

"That sounds fair," Stan said. "I don't really want to start going to services again, though. Are you going to keep going?" Historically, Kyle didn't enjoy synagogue.

"I don't know," Kyle said. "God, we're going to be so busy, Stan, all the time. So tired. I'd rather just sleep in, I think."

"Me too," Stan said, and he grinned.

"But I do want to communicate our, you know, cultures to her!" Kyle said. "It's important."

"Totally," Stan said. He was still fond of Jesus. He hoped this wouldn't turn into a competition someday, waiting to see which religion would captivate Elway, but that was too far off to worry about yet. "We should make a contract," he said.

"Hmm?" Kyle took Elway from him when she began to whine, sniffing her for evidence of diaper issues. "A contract?"

"Well, we're not married yet," Stan said. "And I don't want to make wills, that's too morbid. But we should make a contract and sign it. I don't want, I mean - what if something happened to one of us and the other person's parents tried to take her?"

"Dude," Kyle said. He pressed his face to Stan's and kissed his cheek. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I don't even feel as sick as people with appendicitis usually do. Probably because the nipple pain is too distracting to allow me to pay attention to any other part of my body, but still. I'm not going anywhere, and for God's sake. My mother wouldn't try to steal the baby from you if I did."

"I don't know," Stan said, gazing down at Elway, who was looking back and forth between them in that way they both loved. "But you're right," Stan said hurriedly. "You'll be fine. I'm just nervous. So much drama, you know. Heard anything about Cartman?"

"No," Kyle said. "Why don't you go try to find out? I'm gonna feed her. Pray for my nipples, Stan."

"I will," he said, sincerely, and Kyle laughed.

"Pray for Cartman, too, I guess," he said more softly, looking down at the baby.

Stan wasn't really sure where to go for news of Cartman. He tried Cartman's room first, and was surprised to see Liane and Wendy sitting on a couch across from the empty bed, Wendy holding a big, ornery baby while Liane huddled around her, fussing with the baby's blanket. Wendy was sobbing and Liane was calm, smiling down at the baby, who had wispy black hair.

"Stan!" Wendy said when she saw him standing in the doorway, dumbfounded and not sure if he should intrude. "Did you see my parents?"

"No," Stan said. "Where's Eric?" He was pretty sure he had never called Cartman that in his life, but suddenly it seemed right.

"He's still in surgery," Wendy said, sobbing. "They're trying to determine whether or not to leave the womb in, since it ruptured."

"Oh, God," Stan said. He eyed the baby, who was crying and fidgeting as if she couldn't quite get comfortable. "But she's okay?"

"This is Kinglet," Wendy said, and then she burst into tears again. "Oh, Eric, Jesus, where are you? I can't do this without him, this is too much!"

"Shh," Liane said, easing the baby from Wendy's arms. "Eric is going to be just fine," she said. "Isn't that right?" she asked the baby, who quieted a little as Wendy turned away to cry harder herself. Stan hurried to Wendy, and she dumped herself into his arms when he knelt down in front of her.

"What if they can't fix him?" she cried, clinging to Stan.

"They'll fix him," Stan said, glancing at Liane. "They fixed Clyde, didn't they?"

"Eric wouldn't survive open heart surgery!"

"Darling," Liane said. "Don't say that. You're panicking. Isn't she?" Liane cooed, rubbing her nose against Kinglet's. "Go to my purse, Wends," Liane said. "There's some Valium in the side pocket."

"I don't want Valium!" Wendy said. "I want Eric. Stan, he was so scared. He was awake during the first part, when they delivered her, and everything was fine, they even laid her on his chest, but then something went wrong, and his eyes got so big-"

"Maybe you should take a Valium," Stan said, smoothing her hair away from her wet cheeks. "Cartman is going to be okay. You know him, he's a, um. Survivor."

Stan helped Wendy back onto the couch, and he fished through Liane's purse at her direction until he found the Valium. Wendy consented to take half of one, still crying a little but mostly sniffling. She eyed Kinglet guiltily as a nurse entered with a bottle full of formula.

"You should do it," Wendy said when Liane tried to pass her the bottle. "I - I'm medicated now. I wouldn't want to drop her."

"Half a Valium's not all that strong," Liane said, but she leaned back and brought the bottle to Kinglet's lips herself.

"I never realized Cartman's eyes were that big," Stan said as the baby stared up at Liane, one of her little fists resting against the side of the bottle while she ate. "But, geez. She looks like him, in the eyes anyway. She's got your chin, Wendy." He'd always thought Wendy's chin was cute.

"She's just precious," Liane said. "And she weighs almost ten pounds! Cartman babies are always hearty. Eric's no different. He'll be just fine, won't he?" she said, addressing this to Kinglet.

"She should be having breast milk," Wendy said glumly, and she rose from the couch. "I'm going to look for my parents," she said. "I think they forgot the room number."

Stan was going to mention that this was unlikely, considering that Cartman had been staying in this room for over a month, but he realized that Wendy just wanted an excuse to duck out, and he walked out into the hallway with her.

"I can't do this," Wendy said as soon as they were out of the room, the door closed. She avoided Stan's eyes and started walking, shaking her wrists. "This is too weird, it's too much, it doesn't even feel real."

"I know," Stan said, touching her back. "I was afraid to hold Ellie at first, too. It would be easier for you if Cartman was here, but he'll be out of surgery soon-"

"You don't know that!" Wendy said. "And what if he freaks out even more than I am? You know how he is. He's overconfident. He fakes self-assuredness."

"Neither of you has to be confident or self-assured," Stan said. "You're not going to know everything at first, and that's why your parents are here to help. Relax, dude. Envision the Valium entering your bloodstream."

"Don't talk to me like I'm Kyle!" Wendy snapped. "I'm not some overreacting nymph who needs to be medicated! Eric is in surgery, Stan. Something in him _ruptured_."

"Just the womb, right?" Stan said. "I really think he'll be okay-"

"If you don't stop saying that I'm going to hit you," Wendy said. "And speaking of that, whatever happened with Kenny?"

"Nobody knows anything," Stan said. "I can't get the McCormicks to answer my calls. I'm gonna go over there on the way to work and try to talk to Karen."

"What a nightmare," Wendy said. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "You know, you and Kyle are the only ones who came out of this unscathed."

"Don't jinx us," Stan said. "Kyle's got to have his appendix removed tomorrow, and nobody knows what will happen. Craig and Tweek are the ones who had it easy, seems like."

"Craig is going to New York," Wendy said.

"What? When?"

"Whenever he's lost the weight, he says."

"But - what, he and Tweek are going to move there with the baby? That's insane!"

"He's not bringing the baby," Wendy said. "Or Tweek, as I understand it."

"What?" Stan said, feeling like she'd decided to hit him after all. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Wendy said. "I talked to him a few days ago and he said that this has been the plan for a while. The baby is going to live with the Tweaks, and Craig is going to come visit, but, well. He doesn't want to live in South Park. Can you blame him? And Tweek was going to go with him, I guess, but now he's too endeared to the baby." Wendy looked down at her feet. "I just can't believe she has anything to do with me," she said. "Kinglet, I mean. It's not like I thought it would be. I thought I would know what to do. I thought she'd stop crying every time I picked her up."

"I know," Stan said. He squeezed Wendy's shoulder until she looked up at him. "Sometimes I'll be holding Elway and she'll be screaming bloody murder, and as soon as Kyle takes her from me she's calm and happy again. She does the same thing to Kyle sometimes, when I take over. It's horrible, but babies don't care about people's feelings."

"It's not just that," Wendy said, mumbling. "I thought Eric would be here at least acting like he knows what to do. I feel so awkward when I even hold her. I'm terrified of being left alone with her. Thank God for Liane."

"She'll be a big help," Stan said. "And Cartman will be, too, when he-"

"Don't say it!" Wendy said. "Stop pretending like you know everything is going to be - oh." She looked at something down the hall, her eyes filling with tears. "Eric!" she shouted, and Stan turned to see Cartman being wheeled toward them on a gurney.

"Wendy," Cartman said, mumbling this in drugged-out way that made Stan laugh. Cartman had no tubes running into his nose or IV drips plugged into his arm, and when Wendy leaned down to kiss his face he moaned appreciatively, closing his eyes. "I dreamed I had your love child," he said.

"Eric," Wendy said, crying onto his cheeks. "You did, babe, remember? You met her, really briefly. She was red and screaming. And I do love you, okay? She is - what you said. Because I love you."

"Bitch, will you fucking marry me or what?" Cartman asked, sounding like he might cry.

"Okay," the nurse who was pushing his gurney said. "Let's get him into his room, he's very weak."

"Is he going to be okay?" Wendy asked a doctor who was lingering at Cartman's shoulder, examining his phone.

"Hmm?" The doctor said, looking up. He was a young man with dark hair, and he seemed arrogant, as if he was offended that he had not immediately been the center of Wendy's attention. "Oh, yes. We did a partial hysterectomy, and he won't, well. If he was a woman I'd say he wouldn't be able to have anymore children, but I'm hesitant to make any definitive proclamations about these cases. Let's get him situated in his room so I can examine the infant. She's still doing fine?"

"She's great," Wendy said, stepping back to allow them to push the gurney forward. She wiped at her face with her palms. "Eric, you're going to love her," Wendy said, and she took his hand. "She's got big brown eyes like you."

"Tell Mr. Garrison it was my fault," Cartman said, blinking heavily. "I broke the egg, not Wendy."

"He's going to be groggy for an hour or so," the nurse said. "Are you family?" she asked Stan as he tried to follow them into the room.

"Hell no he's not family," Cartman said, rolling his head back to look at Stan. "He's got daywalker venom in his blood. Oh, fuck, but so do I! Wendy, tell me we didn't have a ginger, tell me my kid doesn't look like a goddamn Tenorman-"

"She's got black hair like me," Wendy said. "Here, see?"

Liane walked over with Kinglet as two nurses transferred Cartman into his bed. Stan lingered in the doorway, wanting to see this for some reason. Cartman's eyelids were still heavy as Liane placed Kinglet in Wendy's arms. Wendy held her very carefully and sat on the bed, leaning back against Cartman's pillows so he could see her better. Cartman just stared for a moment, his lips parted.

"I changed my mind," he said.

"What?" Wendy said.

"About what, hon?" Liane asked, looking anxious.

"I want to name her Clyde," Cartman said, and he cupped his hand around her head, smoothing his thumb over her brow until she'd stopped fussing. "After Clyde Frog. She has his spirit."

"Sweetums," Liane said. "I don't know if that's the best idea."

"Yeah," Wendy said. "Her name is Kinglet, remember? Doesn't she look like a little kinglet? Those aggressively cute birds with big eyes?"

"No, she looks like _me_," Cartman said, marveling. "That's so fucking weird. I hate how I look, but she's working it, man, that's crazy. So, okay. Eric Theodore Cartman the second."

"Let's talk about this again when you're not so high," Wendy said, and Cartman dragged his eyes away from the baby to smile drunkenly at her.

"I dreamed this," he said. "But she's all warm and real and stuff." He looked down at Kinglet again, and Wendy did, too. Kinglet was calm, though she seemed slightly skeptical as she studied Cartman.

"She's trying to figure out what you are," Stan said from the doorway, and the nurse who'd asked him if he was a family member gave him an irritated glance.

"I'm your mom, kid," Cartman said, touching her nose with one shaking finger. "And your dad. I know it's kind of fucked up and confusing, but it's for the best."

"What does that make me?" Wendy asked, looking at Cartman like the way he answered this while stoned actually mattered a lot. He titled his head, still looking at the baby.

"I think it makes you both, too," he said, and Wendy hugged him, shifting Kinglet until she was resting against Cartman's chest, Wendy's arm still supporting her. Stan made himself scarce before breastfeeding could commence.

Kyle was burping the baby when Stan returned to the room, and he made a face when Elway spit up enough to soak the rag he'd put on his shoulder. Stan lifted her out of Kyle's arms, intending to take over. She spit up onto the front of his shirt before he could get a rag in place, but she looked very happy to see him after that, gurgling conversationally while he wiped her mouth.

"I can't believe it," Kyle said after Stan had filled him in. "Cartman is a mother."

"And Craig is still talking about New York," Stan said, bothered by this. If Craig took off and left his partner to deal with the baby, who was to say that the rest of them wouldn't change their minds after enough nipple pain?

"Craig doesn't know what the hell he wants," Kyle said. "But maybe he'll love it up there and forget we all existed. Maybe single fatherhood will be good for Tweek."

"Right," Stan said, scoffing. "I don't think single parenthood is good for anyone. Shit, I wonder how Butters is doing. Maybe they'd let you visit him, since you weren't part of the gang that tried to storm the door when punches were thrown."

"I doubt it," Kyle said. "His parents know I'm friends with Kenny, too, and I don't want to cause any drama before we know what the charges are. Why don't you head over there? You'll need to stop at the house and change your shirt anyway."

"I need to sleep for a little bit longer," Stan said, though he felt too overstimulated to rest.

"You can sleep at home," Kyle said. "You'd probably sleep a lot better there, without the intercom and the nurses and Ellie fidgeting around."

"No, I sleep better with you guys," Stan said, though this wasn't really true. It wasn't a higher quality of sleep, it was just what he preferred, being close to them; it felt important. Kyle was smiling as Stan climbed into the bed, and he took Elway from Stan, fitting her back into the sling.

"When's the last time you got a chance to play?" Kyle asked as they settled in together, Stan pulling a blanket up to their chests and tucking it over Elway's little legs.

"Play what?" Stan asked. "Guitar? I don't know, same as the last time I got a chance to read the news. Before the baby."

"You're not our slave, you know," Kyle said after a while. Stan was beginning to doze, wiping some drool from the corner of Elway's mouth with his thumb. "You're still you."

"I know," Stan said.

"Do you?"

"Kyle," Stan said, hoping his sigh would communicate that he was too tired to talk about his feelings. Kyle sighed, too, but he let Stan fall asleep without further discussion, his face pressed to Kyle's neck.

He slept deeply, but it was the sort of two hour nap that ultimately only made him feel more tired. When Stan left for work Ellie was crying and Nan was advising Kyle to eat something very light for dinner, like clear broth. Stan kissed Kyle's forehead and promised to bring him an elaborate spread of takeout from Longhorn's as soon as he was well enough to eat a big meal.

"Will we ever go on a date again?" Kyle asked. He was in the process of changing Elway, pulling fragrant wipes from a plastic canister.

"Of course we will," Stan said, but he felt like he was lying.

He went home to shower and change before heading to the McCormick house. He still had an hour before the start of his shift, and he hoped he would be able to talk with Kenny in private, though he knew Kenny would be disappointed that Stan didn't have any news about Butters or the baby. Stan wasn't even sure what Butters had named their little girl.

The last weak glow of the sunset was fading as Stan parked on the street outside the McCormick house. The air was still thick with lingering heat, and bugs were singing in the weedy front yard. Stan could usually hear the television or some arguing as he approached Kenny's front door, but tonight there was nothing except the buzz of the air conditioning unit that was mounted in the front window. He knocked, encouraged by the sight of Kenny's car in the driveway.

No one answered for a few minutes, but Stan could see lights on inside and could sense the presence of at least one person lurking in there, so he continued to knock until Karen pulled the door open, looking very annoyed. She was small and usually friendly, but she was the fiercest of the McCormicks when provoked.

"What?" she said.

"Uh," Stan said. "What do you think? I came to see Kenny."

"Well, you're too late," Karen said. She looked tired and unwashed, and Stan realized she was wearing one of Kenny's old sweaters, baggy and brown with patched elbows.

"Did he leave for his night shift?" Stan asked.

"No," Karen said. "He just left."

"Huh?"

"Yesterday," Karen said. She took a deep breath and rubbed at the end of her nose with one over-long sleeve. "Butters' father offered to drop the assault charges if Kenny left town for good. He might have had a year in prison if he stayed, because of his priors. So he left."

"I don't believe that," Stan said. He looked over her skinny shoulders, expecting to find Kenny sitting in the dark with the television, depressed and maybe angry, but nowhere near defeated enough to just _go_.

"Believe it or don't," Karen said. "Doesn't matter to me. You won't find him here, or anywhere in South Park. He barely said anything to me and Mom, just packed a bag and left in Dad's old truck. It's a piece of shit and he won't get far, but he wouldn't take the Kia. He said I'll need it now," she said, mumbling.

"That's not Kenny," Stan said. "He wouldn't do that."

"Why shouldn't he have?" Karen asked. "It would have been better for him to go to jail, to get the shit kicked out of him or worse? To have an arrest for assault on his record? He didn't have a choice."

"He would have said goodbye," Stan said, backing away from her, because he didn't want to believe any of what she was saying. "He would have - didn't he leave a note? For Butters, at least?"

"Not that I know of," Karen said. "How would we have gotten it to him, anyway? They've taken out a restraining order against us."

"This can't - that can't be right," Stan said, still backing away. "You must have misunderstood him. I'm sure he wasn't leaving for _good_."

"He quit his jobs," Karen said. "He said he'd send money, but how?" She closed her eyes and gave her head a tight shake, as if to dislodge something that had been stuck in her hair. "Whatever," she said. "We'll get by. We always do."

"What about Butters?" Stan asked. "Kenny's just going to leave him alone with his parents? They won't stop trying to encourage him to give that baby up."

"Maybe it's for the best if he does," Karen said. She held Stan's gaze for a moment, her eyes softening a little. "Did you give him that quilt yet?" she asked.

"No," Stan said. "I don't think I'd be welcome in that hospital room, but I'll get it to him somehow. Dude, but, wait - where did Kenny go?"

"We don't know," Karen said. She rubbed at her nose again, and Stan noticed that the tip was pink. "Away from here," she said. "That's all that mattered to Butters' father."

Stan walked to his car and climbed in but didn't start it. He sat there soaking in the lingering stink of sulfur, watching the last of the light as it disappeared from the sky. Kenny was just feeling angry and embarrassed. He would come back; he wasn't scared this easily. He wasn't like his father.

Kyle didn't answer when Stan tried to call him, and Stan assumed he had his hands full with Elway. He didn't want to leave the news about Kenny in a voice mail, so he left a message saying he would call Kyle during his dinner break and headed toward work. He caught himself checking passing cars and watching along the side of the road for Kenny. He felt a little like he had when Elway was being kept away from him and Kyle in the NICU. Kenny was basically his family, and he needed help that Stan couldn't give. He punched his steering when he thought of how he might have held Kenny back when he went charging for Mr. Stotch instead of standing there like an idiot and watching it happen.

Throughout his shift, Stan felt like things were too quiet, and he was waiting for something dramatic to happen - a text message with devastating news, a man with a gun bursting into the store and telling him to put his hands up, or some sort of clear sign that Kenny hadn't really left town. Nothing came, and when Stan called Kyle to tell him what Karen said he listened without comment until Stan asked if he was still there.

"I'm here," Kyle said. "Jesus. They're screwed."

"Kyle! You - what about trying to get him a lawyer, someone who knows your dad-"

"I had my dad research Kenny's record and what it might mean for sentencing," Kyle said. "There was a good chance he would have had to serve time, Stan. Kenny's tough, but prison would be horrible for him, and he wouldn't be able to provide for Butters and the baby while he was in there."

"He can't provide for them like this!" Stan said, annoyed by the calmness of Kyle's tone.

"Sure he can," Kyle said. "He could find work in another town and send checks. You know, he's lucky Mr. Stotch offered him that opportunity."

"_Lucky_?" Stan sputtered wordlessly for a moment. "_Opportunity_?"

"Being able to leave town for a while is better than serving time and ending up with an assault charge on his record! And maybe he can send for Butters once he settles in. Oh, God, what am I even saying. They're screwed. But really, would you rather see that asshole prosecute Kenny to the full extent of the law? My dad might have friends who are lawyers, but they wouldn't have defended him for free. The Stotches can afford Denver lawyers."

"I can't accept this," Stan said. "It's insane."

"Kenny shouldn't have hit Mr. Stotch. Is it understandable that he wanted to? Yes, of course. But he's a father now, Stan. He can't act like that."

"How's he supposed to feel like a father when he can't even see his kid?"

"Are we seriously arguing about this?" Kyle said. "You know I sympathize with Kenny, but you know like I do that those two were doomed from the start. Look how important our parents have been in the past month. We would be on the streets without their help."

"We wouldn't be on the streets," Stan said. "Jesus, Kyle, I'm working forty hours a week."

"And I appreciate that," Kyle said, a little tightly. "A lot, believe me. But you're kidding yourself if you think the three of us could actually survive off of what you make, even if I skipped college, which I'm not doing."

"I'm not asking you to skip college! I'm - why aren't you more upset about Kenny?"

"Because he's not gone forever!" Kyle said. "I'm sure he'll come back when the statute of limitations has run on assault."

"Oh, great, that's great, Kyle. And what is that, ten years?"

"I'm sure it's not that much," Kyle said. "Since he wasn't using a weapon. I doubt any jury would consider a sobbing teenager's fists deadly force."

"I just can't believe how easily you're taking this," Stan said. "What if it was me? What if your parents hated me? They came pretty close when they found out I'd gotten you pregnant."

"They did not," Kyle said. "And what's the point of speculating? I knew something awful was going to happen as soon as I heard that Kenny had hit that bastard, and this is not as bad as some of the scenarios I'd come up with. Kenny will be okay."

"How about Butters? We don't even know what he's going through. We haven't even seen him."

"But we will," Kyle said. "When things calm down. God, I'm glad you have the night off tomorrow. You really need some rest."

Stan researched the statute of limitations for assault in Colorado when he returned to his computer in the pharmacy. He found a wide range of answers, from ten years to eighteen months, and realized that he didn't know what the arrest charge had been. If it was third degree assault, Kenny would be off the hook after eighteen months. If the police considered Mr. Stotch's busted nose "disfigurement" that was caused intentionally, Kenny might have been charged with first degree assault, meaning he would need to stay away from Butters for ten years or risk having charges pressed. Apparently there was something in the law involving the "Heat of Passion," which could reduce a felony assault charge to a class five felony, but Kenny would have to prove that he was provoked. Stan would certainly testify that he had been, but Mr. Stotch would bring witnesses who weren't teenage impregnators to say otherwise. Stan's eyes were burning by the time he was pulled away from the computer to sell a pack of condoms to a skinny guy who avoided his eyes while he paid.

"You're smart," Stan said, somewhat deliriously, and the guy gave him a horrified look. "I mean, for using protection. That's good. Keep at it."

"Uh, yeah," the guy muttered, and he practically jogged from the store after Stan had given him his change.

Stan was so exhausted after his shift that he considered going home and sleeping in his own bed for a while, but Kyle's surgery was looming, and Stan wanted to be with him for as long as possible before they put him under. When he walked in to the front lobby he was surprised to see Craig, Tweek, Token and Clyde all gathered near the admitting desk. Craig had an armful of baby toys, blankets, and other gifts, and Tweek was holding Artemis, a baby bag slung over his shoulder. Stan grinned and waved when Clyde spotted him. He was wearing a carrier and his son was strapped into it, sleeping with his little cheek pressed to Clyde's chest.

"He looks bigger," Stan said, as he made his way over to the group. Clyde grinned and stroked Andy's hair. Stan was glad to see he finally had some, dark brown and already a little curly. "Don't tell me you guys are checking out?"

"They aren't, but we are," Craig said. "Thank God. If I had to see one more dumpy middle-aged chick in mauve scrubs I was going to lose a piece of my soul forever."

"They want to keep Nathan here for another few weeks," Token said. "But it's just a precaution. He's doing much better, and so is Clyde." He slid an arm around Clyde's shoulder as he said so, and Clyde smiled at him.

"Nathan?" Stan said, bending down to peek at him. "I thought you'd changed it back to Andy?"

"We did," Clyde said. "But then I switched again. He looks like more of a Nathan, doesn't he?" Clyde seemed fretful, and Craig snorted.

"He'll look like more of an Andy by dinnertime," he said.

"How's Artemis?" Stan asked, cringing a little at the name. He wanted to ask Craig about his plan to leave for New York, but was afraid he'd hurt Tweek's feelings if he brought it up.

"She's wonderful," Craig said. "The first South Park miracle baby to be permitted to enter the real world. I heard Cartman finally popped?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "Kinglet looks like him, but his features are surprisingly cute on a baby. And there's some Wendy mixed in, too. I think all our kids are going to be pretty," he said when Nathan opened his eyes and regarded him shyly, making a soft noise.

"We're trying to get him used to seeing people and moving around," Clyde said, cupping his hand around the back of Nathan's head. "Are Kyle's boobs working?" Clyde asked, and Stan laughed at the randomness of the question. Clyde didn't blush or demur, just stood there waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," Stan said, glancing at Craig and waiting for him to make a crack about this, but Craig was too busy putting a little knit hat on Artemis. "They're working."

"Lucky," Clyde said, frowning. "My supply never came in, 'cause of the surgery they did, removing the womb and all. It's stupid, because, you know, I wasn't looking forward to the breastfeeding thing, but now I just want him to be healthy, and I can't give that to him-"

"Hey, the formula's fine," Token said. "It helped him get stronger when he only weighed three pounds, didn't it? That's no small feat."

"It's a shame you can't do it, though," Craig said. "Because it takes the pounds right off. Look," he said, turning to show them his profile. "My ass is already halfway back to normal."

"I lost thirty pounds between heart surgery and almost dying, so I'm good there," Clyde said, and Stan was proud of him. He seemed so much sturdier with his baby resting against his chest, unflappable. He even had some stubble on his cheeks.

"Well, I've lost fifteen pounds," Craig said, as if someone had asked. "How much has Kyle lost?"

"Twenty," Stan said, and Craig rolled his eyes like he knew Stan was lying.

"What about Butters?" Tweek asked. "Gah - I mean - not how much weight he's lost, just, has anyone talked to him?"

"We heard about the drama with Kenny," Craig said. "Classic McCormick."

"Don't say that," Stan said. "You don't know the situation. I - I don't know if he wants me talking about it. I'm going to try to see Butters after Kyle is out of surgery."

"Oh, yeah," Token said. "I heard he's getting his appendix out. Are you worried?"

"No," Stan said, too sharply to be convincing. "Why would I be worried? It's a totally routine surgery."

"Kyle will be fine," Clyde said. "I heard Elway's doing awesome." He grinned. "I love that name."

"Thanks," Stan said. "Yeah, she's the best." He felt bad for saying so, though it was clearly true. "All her little reactions are just fucking amazing. I could watch her staring at a rattle for hours."

"As fascinating as our children's rattle staring abilities are," Craig said, "We must be going. Tweek's mom is waiting outside with the car. Say goodbye, Lulu," he said, adjusting Artemis' hat so that it was stylishly slanted.

"Lulu?" Stan said. "I thought there were only two accepted nicknames?"

"Only me and Tweek are allowed to call her Lulu," Craig said. "I'm considering opening the nickname to the general public, but for now it's exclusive." He stood there for a moment as if he suspected he might sound like an idiot, something Stan had never seen Craig grapple with, then he stepped forward to put his arms around Token, Clyde, and Nathan all at once, hugging them. "Get the hell out of here soon, okay?" he said to them, and Token nodded.

"Stick around a while," Token said, quietly, and Stan realized he must know about New York. Craig said nothing, just patted Clyde's cheek and turned to go.

"We should start that group again!" Tweek said, hoisting Artemis up a little higher as he backed toward the door. "You know, um, with the brownies?"

"We'd have to rename it," Stan said. "Since nobody's pregnant anymore, and most of us aren't pissed off."

"We could call it the Mommy Circle," Clyde said. "Like in Garrison's class."

"Whatever we call it, we'll definitely be seeing a lot of you," Token said, lifting his hand to wave to Tweek, who smiled.

When they were gone Stan spent a few more minutes admiring little Nathan before making his exit, telling them Kyle would be waiting.

"Maybe try to see Butters," he said. "The Stotches don't have anything against you guys."

"Sure they do," Token said. "I'm pretty sure they give all gay couples the side eye." Clyde laughed, and Token looked at him. "What?"

"We're a gay couple," Clyde said.

"Why's that funny?" Token asked, but he was smiling.

"It just is," Clyde said, and Stan slipped away when they kissed. As he walked toward Kyle's room he realized that none of them had really discussed Henrietta's culpability in the pregnancies. It seemed mostly irrelevant. He wasn't mad at her or grateful to her, because whatever had sparked the circumstances that led to Elway's creation, Stan and Kyle were the ones who made her. Stan could see it every time he looked at her. She had Stan's constant need to be cuddled and Kyle's wary curiosity, things that wouldn't be apparent to anyone but them until she was older. Stan felt like he already knew not just want kind of person she would become but what kind of person she was, inherently, because she was made from parts of him.

He wondered how Henrietta was doing and if she would be allowed back into the Mommy Circle. Stan would be okay with it, but some of the other parents would be less forgiving. He considered broaching the subject with Kyle, but the thought was quickly replaced with panic when he approached the open door to Kyle's hospital room and heard desperately upset, adult-style sobbing from within. He raced into the room and saw Ike holding Elway while Sheila stood beside him, holding some unfamiliar baby who was fussing tiredly. The baby had fluffy blond hair, and Stan guessed whose it was when he whirled around to see Kyle sitting on the couch with Butters, who was wearing one of Stan's sweatshirts and weeping into Kyle's chest.

"Oh, Jesus," Stan said, assuming he'd just found out about Kenny. Kyle looked up at Stan and shook his head.

"Ike found him wandering the halls with his baby, barefoot, in a hospital gown," Kyle said. "They hadn't even given him any _underwear_, Stan. To discourage a fucking prison break."

"Kyle!" Sheila hissed. "Don't be crass. Oh, Butters, you poor thing."

"Dude," Stan said, going to the couch. He sat on the other side of Butters and wrapped his arms around him. Butters was shivering, choking on his sobs.

"I'm s-sorry," Butters said.

"Don't start with that shit," Kyle said. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Just calm down and tell us what happened."

"I think we know what happened," Stan said, and Kyle gave him a wide-eyed look. Apparently they had not discussed Kenny's departure yet.

"They just can't," Butters cried. "I won't let them, they can't!"

"Are your parents trying to convince you to do the adoption thing?" Kyle asked. "They don't have the rights, dude, you're eighteen."

"It's not just them," Butters said. He lifted his face and looked back over his shoulder, at Stan. "Hi," he said softly, and Stan wiped some tears from Butters' cheek.

"Hey, dude," he said, his voice a little unsteady just from the sight of Butters' puffy eyes and trembling lips. He glanced at Ike to check that Elway was still okay, and she seemed perfectly fine, though Stan thought she was looking in his and Kyle's direction a little longingly.

"Tell us what's going on, sweetheart," Sheila said.

"They want to give her to my aunt and uncle now," Butters said. "They came here from California, I didn't want them to, but I can't say why, and they don't have kids, and it's good, they shouldn't, _he_ shouldn't, but now my folks say we could keep her in the family and still give her away, but they can't have her, not them-"

"Here we go," someone said, entering the room. It was Nan, and Stan was glad when she shut the door behind her. She handed Butters a bottle of water and a little paper cup with two pills. "Take those," she said when Butters peered down at them. "They'll help you calm down."

"Oh-okay," Butters said. He sniffled and swallowed both pills in one go. Kyle dried Butters' cheeks with what was hopefully a clean burp rag while he drank more water, gasping for breath between gulps.

"Your family has no right to make any decisions about who she lives with," Kyle said. "You are her mother. Father - parent! So don't worry, okay? They can't force you."

"But they drove my Kenny away," Butters said, new tears sliding down his cheeks. "And I don't have anybody. They said I should be grateful that Bev and Bud would take her, but they don't know, they don't know-"

"Nobody's taking her if that's not what you want," Stan said. "And you do too have somebody. You have us, okay?"

"Yeah," Ike said. "And Kyle's room is empty! And there's already a crib there and everything."

"Issac," Sheila said, giving him a look. He shrugged.

"That's true," Kyle said. Sheila sighed and peered down at Butters' baby, who was doing a high-pitched, persistent whine thing that made Stan think of the sound Butters made when he thought he was going to get in trouble.

"She's such a pretty girl," Sheila said. "What's her name?"

"Daisy," Butters said. He held his arms out. "I think I'm okay to hold her now."

"Are you sure?" Sheila asked, walking toward them.

"Mom!" Kyle said. "God! Of course he's sure."

Sheila knelt down to hand Daisy to Butters, and Stan wrapped his hand around Kyle's elbow as they both peered down at Butters' baby, who mostly looked like Butters, sweet-faced with blue eyes and a concentrated tuft of bright blond hair. When she cried Stan thought she looked more like Kenny.

"Oh," Butters said, sniffling. "She's hungry, I think. But I don't have my milk here."

"You're using formula?" Kyle said.

"No," Butters said. "B-but I don't have the pumpy thing and the bottles and all that."

"She won't take it straight from you?" Kyle asked. Butters reared back and glanced at Stan, then at Sheila and Ike, who was doing a kind of slow dance sway with Elway that was actually pretty cute.

"Well, I can't," Butters said. He was turning red, rubbing Daisy's chubby little thigh to try to get her to stop crying. It wasn't working; she was getting increasingly worked up, and Stan could hear Elway whining as if she thought she should probably start crying, too.

"What do you mean you can't?" Kyle said. "I know it hurts, but so does the pump, and sometimes mine hurt worse when I'm not feeding her-"

"I mean it's sorta unnatural and stuff, isn't it?" Butters said. "Ah - kinda weird?"

"Well, yes." Kyle rolled his eyes. "But what about this isn't? Here - Stan, get him a shirt with buttons. And some pants. Butters, you're shivering, are you cold?"

"I don't know," Butters said, crying a little. "Yes?"

Stan took Elway from Ike after he'd given Butters some more appropriate clothing, and everyone but Nan was ushered out of the room so that Butters could have a private nursing lesson. Kyle stayed, too, because apparently he considered himself an expert.

"That poor child," Sheila said when they were outside, Elway still whimpering a little as Stan hugged her to his chest. "He seems half out of his mind."

"He's just been stressed to his breaking point," Stan said. "We need to find out where Kenny went and reunite them."

"What good would that do?" Sheila asked. "He told us his father is hell bent on having Kenny put in jail if he ever shows his face again!"

"At least he's being honest about why Kenny isn't here now," Stan said. "Before they were telling him that Kenny wasn't trying to see him, and that me and Wendy were lying when we said that he had."

"Well, the whole thing is a big mess," Sheila said. She whacked Ike's shoulder. "And what do you think you're doing offering him Kyle's room?"

"I just meant until he gets things worked out with his parents or Kenny or whatever!" Ike said. "And I thought you were all mad and stuff about Kyle staying with Stan's family. This way you get to have a baby around anyway!"

"I'm hardly desperate to have a baby around!" Sheila said. "I'd like my granddaughter around, that's all." She smoothed down Elway's hair, which was still sparse. "That is a very sweet little girl he's got," she said. "But we're not a boarding house!"

Nan came to fetch Elway after about ten minutes, and Stan was afraid he'd see Butters' boob upon reentering, but Butters had stretched out in Kyle's hospital bed and seemed to be asleep. Daisy was nearby, sleeping in the makeshift crib that had once been Elway's incubator. Stan thought of Kenny, how he should be there to hold his daughter while Butters slept, and he felt like punching a wall on Kenny behalf.

"Did it work?" Stan asked as he fell to a seat beside Kyle, watching him unbutton his shirt for Elway.

"Sort of," Kyle said. All he had to do for Elway was flash a nipple and she swooned in for a meal. "They've gotten her more used to bottles, I guess, but she drank enough from him that she got calm and fell asleep, so that's something. Ugh," Kyle said, putting his head on Stan's shoulder. "I'm too tired for this. I have surgery in three hours."

"You haven't eaten anything this morning, have you?" Stan asked, stroking Kyle's hair.

"Mhmm, no," Kyle said. "So my milk must be all watery and unsatisfying. Poor baby."

"She seems okay with it," Stan said, and they both laughed when she opened her eyes a little wider, as if she knew they were discussing her.

"So," Kyle said. "Butters."

"Yeah," Stan said. "It's - bad."

"Uh-huh. Where did my mom and Ike go?"

"Ike went to get food," Stan said. "I think your mom was going to try to find Mrs. Stotch and figure out what the hell is going on."

"That's good," Kyle said. "As much as I want to keep them away from him, since he was roaming the halls like an escaped mental patient, I don't think they really understand whatever he's going through. What was he rambling about, that stuff about his aunt and uncle?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "I guess they were talking about adopting the baby."

"He was really panicked at the thought," Kyle said. "When Ike first brought him in here we could barely make out what he was ranting about. I guess Nan gave him Percocet."

"I think I could use some," Stan said, and Kyle laughed tiredly. "Or maybe the opposite - something to wake me up. Hey, don't get depressed about this, but Craig and Tweek went home with their baby. I ran into them when they were on their way out."

"I'm not depressed about that," Kyle said. "Good for them. Did it seem like Tweek knew about Craig's departure plans?"

"Maybe," Stan said. "Token said something that made me think he knew. Oh, and I saw Clyde and his baby! He's called Nathan again, for now. He's cute, really calm and quiet. Clyde seemed happy, too, more grown up or something."

"That's good," Kyle said. He nuzzled at Stan's neck and rubbed his thumb in circles over Elway's fat little knee. She seemed close to sleep, too, her eyes closed while she ate. She was wearing Stan's favorite jumper, a pale blue one with a little sailboat in the middle. It made her eyes look very blue when she peeked at him through her tiny red eyelashes, trying to stay awake so she could keep eating. "I don't want to leave her during my surgery," Kyle said. "Or you."

"I could come with you," Stan said. "And your mom could watch her."

"No, they won't let you," Kyle said. "I asked. And it's good, actually, because she hasn't been away from us for longer than it takes to shower since the NICU. If she wants you, you'll be there. That's more important."

"What do you think is going to happen?" Stan asked, nodding toward Butters, who was still out cold.

"I don't know," Kyle said. He was quiet for a while, watching Butters. He was lying on his side, turned away from them. "I wish Kenny was here," Kyle said.

"Me too," Stan said. He got up and walked over to Daisy. She was frowning a little in her sleep, wearing just a little lavender shirt and a diaper. She had Butters' short nose and dainty ears, and Kenny's plump bottom lip. Looking at her made Stan feel a little closer to Kenny, though still too far away.

Sheila was back shortly, unable to find Mrs. Stotch, though she'd left a note about Butters' whereabouts with one of the nurses who'd been tending to him. This made Stan nervous, as if Butters' parents might swoop in and reinstall Butters in the asylum he'd escaped from. Albright showed up an hour later to start prepping Kyle for surgery.

"What's this?" she said when she saw someone else in Kyle's bed.

"This is their friend," Nan explained. "And his baby. They're having a crisis - this is the one whose boyfriend punched the grandfather," she said, more quietly. Albright raised her eyebrows.

"Okay," she said. "Can we get them out of here so I can work?"

"Can't you just bring an extra bed?" Kyle asked, standing from the couch with Elway, who was sleeping. "He really needs to stay here for a while."

Stan stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes, unable to hold them open any longer. He listened to Sheila, Kyle, and Albright discussing the logistics of Butters and Daisy sharing the room, and he was unable to pay attention long enough to make sense of any of the arguments. He woke when someone shook his arm. It was Kyle, peering into his face and brushing his hair back. He looked so sweet and worried that Stan felt like he'd just returned from Oz, back to the real world. Then he saw that Kyle was wearing a hospital gown, and he knew that he hadn't.

"They're taking me to the ER," Kyle said. Nan was waiting near the door with a wheelchair. Butters was awake, sitting up in bed and holding Daisy while he spoke to Sheila, who had Elway. Gerald and Ike were by the window, eating something that smelled strongly of garlic. Stan felt a random longing for his mother as he stood and hugged Kyle to him.

"The contract," he said, pulling back. "We didn't-"

"It's okay," Kyle said. "We don't need a contract, not right away." He leaned up to hug Stan again, putting his lips against Stan's ear. "I won't leave you," he whispered. "Ever, dude, I promise."

It was a testament to how much Stan trusted Kyle that after everything that had happened and all that could go wrong he still believed Kyle had the power to decide they would never be parted for long. He hugged Kyle hard around his waist and kissed his ear a few times before letting him go.

When Kyle had left with Albright and Nan, Stan went to the bed and sat down beside Butters, who smiled at him sleepily. Daisy was awake, sucking on the end of Butters' index finger, and she looked at Stan when he leaned over to put his shoulder against Butters'. She didn't have the same reservation in her demeanor that Elway did when she saw a new person. Daisy peered up at Stan with wide blue eyes that made him think of the way Butters looked when he had some exciting gossip to announce to the lunch table.

"She seems like a happy baby," Stan said, glad for that.

"Oh, she is!" Butters said. "She's just the sweetest baby anybody could want, I tell you."

"Is her name Daisy McCormick?" Stan asked, because there was no point avoiding the elephant in the room.

"Uh-huh," Butters said, lowering his eyes to her. "Daisy Linda McCormick. My dad didn't like that so much. My mom did, though, 'cause the Linda's for her."

"Do you think you might like to talk to your mom?" Stan asked.

"Maybe, yeah," Butters said softly. "There's just some things I don't want to tell her."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like personal things," Butters said, his voice dropping so low that Stan knew he needed to change the subject.

"Have Elway and Daisy met yet?" Stan asked, turning toward Sheila, who was watching them with a sad look on her face, Elway cuddled in her arms.

"Not really," Butters said. "They were crying together, sorta. I guess they heard each other."

"She hasn't met any other babies yet," Stan said, reaching for Elway. Sheila brought her over and put her in his arms.

"Are you alright, bubbeh?" she said, and Stan looked up at her with surprise when he realized she was talking to him, waiting for an answer. She'd never called him that before.

"I think so," Stan said. "Why, do you think I should be more worried about Kyle? Because Albright said-"

"I'm talking about you," Sheila said. "You're so tired," she said, touching Stan's hair. She shook her head and walked over to Ike, who was showing Gerald some video he'd taken of Elway with his phone.

Stan didn't feel particularly tired, though he did feel like he was living in a dream world, as if he was always waking up back in Oz. He laughed with Butters when they angled the babies together so they could see each other. Daisy was noisier and prone to moving her arms as if she was trying to communicate something. Elway fidgeted and looked up at Stan questioningly between bouts of staring at Daisy, as if to make sure that whatever was going on here was okay with him. Stan and Butters were both pink-cheeked from laughing about this by the time Mrs. Stotch showed up in the doorway.

"Oh, Linda!" Sheila said. "Ah - good, I'm glad they found you!"

"Butters?" Linda said. She looked like she'd been crying, and she was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blouse, her hair pulled back in a girlish little ponytail, a few greasy strands hanging around her face. Stan had never seen her without a skirt and perfect hair. He'd also never realized how small she was, like Butters.

"Mom," Butters said. His eyes got wet, but he smiled. "Sorry I took off like that. I just can't take it sometimes when they all start in on me."

"I know, baby," Linda said, and she walked to the bed, her arms folded over her chest. "Is Daisy okay?" She nodded and sniffled when she saw that Daisy was fine, still studying Elway. "Oh, look," Linda said, noticing her. "Red hair like Kyle." She gave Stan a shaky smile.

"Is Dad real mad at me?" Butters asked, holding Daisy more closely, higher against his chest.

"No, honey," Linda said. She let out her breath and ran her fingers through Butters' hair, making it stand up. His was stiff with grease, too. "He's just worried. Bev and Bud are flying home today. They didn't come here for your baby, sweetheart, it was just an idea Daddy had."

"They can't have her," Butters said, and his eyes overflowed. "She doesn't want to go with them." He bent down to kiss Daisy. Stan slid out of bed and walked Elway over to the Broflovskis, beginning to feel like he was intruding. Sheila, Gerald and Ike were watching Butters and his mother out of the corners of their eyes, trying to be discreet about their curiosity.

"Dad and I just wanted you to think about it seriously," Linda said. "We wanted you to have a normal life, Butters, a college education-"

"Dad wanted me to go to St. Benedict's and become a priest!"

"He doesn't mean it when he says things like that," Linda said. She was still stroking Butters' hair, and Stan couldn't decide if she was being manipulative or sincere. He imagined growing up never knowing which it was must have been exhausting. "You know how your father gets when he thinks you're making a mistake that might hurt you," Linda said. "He's been so upset ever since we found out about the McCormick boy."

"His name is Kenny!" Butters said, sniffling. "Don't pretend like you don't know."

"Yes, we know his name." Linda sighed and looked at Sheila. "Could we get some privacy, maybe?"

"I'm sorry, Linda," Sheila said. "But this is Kyle's room, and we're waiting to hear from his doctor. He's in surgery! Butters, why don't you go back to your room with Daisy and your mother? I'm sure you've got a lot to talk about."

"Is grandma still there?" Butters asked, looking up at his mother.

"Yes," she said.

"Then I'm not coming!" Butters rolled away from her and slumped onto the pillows, hugging Daisy against him. Daisy whined a little but quieted when Butters kissed her temple.

"Butters, what are you talking about?" Linda asked. "What have you got against seeing your grandmother?"

"You don't know what they do to me," Butters said. "Her and Bud, and - Dad wouldn't believe me, but it's true! And he thinks _Kenny_ hurts me? Kenny is the only who's ever-" He dissolved into quiet tears, and Stan couldn't bear the feeling that he was intruding any longer. Gerald and Ike seemed to have had enough, too, and they followed Stan toward the door. Sheila stayed put, frowning as if she was ready to intervene on Butters' behalf.

"Geez," Ike said when they were outside.

"Yeah," Stan said. He kissed the top of Elway's head, wishing that he'd thought to get the sling. "I think I want a baby carrier," Stan said when no one else seemed able to come up with a conversation topic. They'd closed the door behind them but they could hear Butters crying, and it sounded like Linda was, too.

"A baby carrier, huh?" Gerald said, scratching at the back of his neck. "Like the ones where their feet hang out the front?"

"Maybe," Stan said. "Clyde had one where his baby was facing his chest."

"They probably make one that can convert to either position," Ike said, and they all nodded. Sharing in the awkwardness of the situation, Stan had never felt closer to Gerald or Ike. He turned when the door opened and Sheila came out, wiping at her eyes.

"That poor boy!" she said.

"Honey?" Gerald said, going to her as she moved away from the door. Ike and Stan glanced at each other and followed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, ah- I'm going to the ladies' room," Sheila said. Gerald walked down the hallway toward the bathroom with her, his arm around her shoulders. Ike filled his cheeks with air and blew it out.

"Well," he said. "Even I'm getting sick of being here, and I haven't spent the night once."

"Yeah, it's enough," Stan said. He looked down at Elway, who was getting fussy. "Isn't it enough?" he said to her. "As soon as Daddy is all better we're going home. Don't you want to go home? You haven't even heard me play guitar yet. Are you gonna get annoyed by it like Kyle does? Hmm?"

"Alright," Ike said. "Stop doing that."

"God, is Butters okay?" Stan asked, looking up from Elway, who was not amused by his attempt at conversation, starting to cry in earnest.

"You're asking me?" Ike said. "I don't know what the hell is going on!"

"Can you go back in there and get one of the bottles Kyle pumped out of that little fridge?" Stan asked. "I think she needs to eat."

"Don't make me go in there!" Ike said, bouncing on his toes. "That's like, Hallmark movie territory, I don't want to intrude."

"Dude, your niece needs you!" Stan said. "Go!"

Ike went, and while he was in there Stan saw Wendy and Cartman headed his way, Liane and Wendy's parents trailing behind them. He couldn't suppress his annoyance when he saw that their arms were loaded with the flowers and balloons that had once decorated Cartman's room. They were going home, too. Stan felt conspired against, though he understood why they had to stay.

"Hey!" Wendy said, coming upon him just as Ike darted out of the room with a bottle. "What's going on?" she asked. Cartman was in a wheelchair at her side, holding Kinglet and being pushed by Liane.

"Did Kyle kick you two out?" Cartman asked, smirking as Stan accepted the bottle from Ike. Elway was wailing, and she wouldn't take the bottle.

"Uh - no - he's in surgery-"

"Sit down for a minute," Wendy said. "Mom - here, will you take this to the car?"

They settled in the nearby waiting area, and Stan was very glad to be off his feet. Liane and the Testaburgers headed for the parking lot with the massive amount of gifts and supplies that had accumulated in Cartman's room during his stay, Liane promising that she'd have the car out front in just a few minutes. Stan got Elway to take the bottle after a couple more tries, and she looked slightly disgruntled while she ate, but apparently the taste of Kyle's milk was enough to convince her that the bottle wasn't evil.

"I can't believe they're releasing you already," Stan said to Cartman, who couldn't seem to stop admiring Kinglet, smiling down at her while she gurgled in a Cartman-like way.

"Believe it," Cartman said. "I could have given birth on the roof of a speeding car if I had to. I only had to stay here so long because they grouped me in with you pussies."

"Eric," Wendy said. She looked very tired, though less stressed. She leaned down onto Cartman's shoulders and smiled at Kinglet, smoothing her hair so that it was all pointed in a uniform direction.

"So," Stan said. "Cartman. Are your boobs working?"

"Stan!" Wendy said, but Cartman just laughed.

"Of course they are," he said. "And they taste great, I tried some."

"Ugh," Stan said, cringing.

"He had to have a lactation consultant," Wendy said. "It took a few hours, his supply's not great because of the partial hysterectomy-"

"Wendy, quit telling him my business!" Cartman said. "I've still got, like, twice the supply of Kyle, probably, because mine are so big."

"I want to go back in time," Stan said, "To the bus stop, when we were eight, and tell you that someday you'd be bragging that you have more breast milk in your tits than Kyle."

"Fine, go," Cartman said. "I'd be like, 'Hell yeah I will.' And I'd be right!"

"We'd better go," Wendy said, taking the handles on Cartman's wheelchair. "I can't wait to get home and sleep in a real bed." She gave Stan a sympathetic look. "You guys will get to leave soon," she said.

"Sure," Stan said, beginning to feel like even Token and Clyde might be released before them. "Wait, so - you're living with Cartman and Liane now?"

"We're playing it by ear," Wendy said, giving him a look that asked him not to press the issue. Cartman was distracted anyway, babbling at Kinglet while she listened intently. "Don't do baby talk!" Wendy said, pushing Cartman back toward the hallway. "It'll interfere with her speech patterns!"

"It's not baby talk, it's freestyle!" Cartman said.

Wendy looked back at Stan to roll her eyes. She waved, and Stan was surprised by how sad he was to see them go. He missed his friends. He thought of Kenny and looked down at Elway, sighing.

"This is the first time I've fed you," he said. "It's kind of nice, isn't it? Glad you're not sucking on my nipple, though, to be honest." He craned his neck to get a look at the door to Kyle's room, and it was still closed. "Hey!" he called when he saw Nan heading toward it. "Over here."

The frown on her face made Stan's heart stop. Elway must have sensed his panic, because she pulled away from the bottle and whined.

"What are you doing out here?" Nan asked.

"Nothing - it's - how's Kyle?"

"I just came to tell you that the surgery is over, and that he's fine." She smiled at Stan's obvious relief. "They should bring him down from post-op in about fifteen minutes."

"Oh, thank God," Stan said. "Thank you."

"You were worried?" Nan said.

"I'm always worried about him," Stan said. He put the bottle aside and lifted Elway so that her chin was on his shoulder, letting her burp directly onto his shirt.

"Did that other boy take over his room?" Nan asked. "Is that why you're out here?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "But it's okay. His daughter is basically our niece. Our best friend was the grandfather puncher."

"This place is going to seem pretty boring when you all leave," Nan said, and Stan smiled.

Butters and Linda emerged a few minutes later, Butters wearing some of Kyle's slippers, Stan's sweatpants dragging on the floor when he walked. He was puffy-eyed, and so was Linda. She was holding Daisy, and Stan couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not as he walked over to them.

"Everything okay?" he asked, speaking to Butters.

"Yeah," Butters said. "I think so."

"I'm taking Butters and Daisy home," Linda said. "The doctors told us a few days ago that they could check out, but Stephen - he wanted to make sure it was the right thing." She cleared her throat and shook some of the loose stands of hair from her face. "I don't think he knew what the right thing was, though. We didn't have all of the - information."

"I'm gonna talk to my dad," Butters said. "I've been afraid to for so long, but maybe he'll ease up on Kenny if I stop being so scared to tell him the truth about a few things." He smiled down at Daisy when she started making little grunting noises, like she wanted something and couldn't reach it. Butters lifted her out of Linda's arms and hugged her to his chest. "I gotta be brave for her, you know?" he said.

"Sure," Stan said, not completely comfortable with this plan, though it was true that Butters wasn't going to get far without his parents' help. "If you ever need anything, me and Kyle are here for you, okay?" he said.

"Okay, Stan," Butters said. "And if you hear from Kenny, you - you tell him to come home, alright?"

"Alright," Stan said, not sure he felt about that, either. Butters' dad could always pretend to be okay with allowing Kenny back into their lives and press charges on him as soon as he returned.

Back in the room, Stan climbed into Kyle's bed and hummed to Elway until she started to drift to sleep. He envied her, wanting to sleep himself, though not until he could hold Kyle safe in his arms. Sheila and Gerald returned with food from the hospital's "bistro," which was all beginning to taste the same to Stan, whether it was a chicken salad sandwich or a plastic tray of cheese and apples, but the meal had a celebratory feel because of the good news about Kyle's surgery going as planned. Stan put Elway in the baby seat they'd bought for her, where she slept surprisingly well while they ate.

"She's worn out like her dad," Sheila said. "Please tell me you don't have to work tonight, Stanley."

"I don't," Stan said. "Got the night off."

"You should try to get the day shift," Sheila said.

"Maybe," Stan said, though he didn't plan to. The night shift paid more. He was debating whether or not to share this with the Broflovskis when he heard a squeaky sound near the door and saw Kyle being wheeled in by Albright, looking greenish and half asleep. "Dude!" Stan said, springing out of the bed to make way for him. Albright laughed, and it took Stan a moment to realize that Stan's most typical endearment for Kyle was what she found funny.

"Here we go, all done," Albright said. "A very easy surgery, they were able to do a laparoscopic procedure."

"Where's Ellie?" Kyle asked, slurring a little.

"Sleeping in her chair," Stan said. "Can I put him in the bed?" he asked Albright.

"Carefully," Alright said. "The scar is here," she said, indicating a place over Kyle's right hip, opposite the C-section scar.

"Oh, bubbeh!" Sheila said as Stan lifted Kyle into his arms. "Look at you, you've been through so much - careful, Stanley, careful!"

Stan was being careful, and he tuned her out as Kyle looked up at him with bleary eyes. Once he was settled into the bed, Kyle glanced over at Elway's chair, which was in its usual place on the floor, sitting on top of a blanket that was covered with toys that she was still too young to play with or even be very interested in when they held them in front of her face. Kyle smiled down at her and waved, though she was fast asleep.

"I feel great," he said, whispering this to Stan as if he didn't want his parents to know he was high. Stan laughed and climbed into bed with him, hugging his arm across Kyle's chest and breathing in the sweaty, antiseptic scent of him while Albright talked with his parents. "Wait," Kyle said. "Where's Butters and Daisy?"

"They went home with Butters' mom," Stan said. "They had some long talk in here. Something about Butters' grandmother, or - I don't know. I think he's okay, for now. I'm glad you are, too."

"Mhmm, Stan," Kyle said, sighing drowsily and flopping his hand onto Stan's hip. He was wearing a hospital bracelet, the same one he'd had on for over a month. Stan couldn't believe they'd been in the hospital that long, though it felt much longer at times. Elway would be five weeks old at 11:54PM.

"Cartman and Wendy left earlier," Stan said. "Cartman had to have a lactation consultant."

"Ha," Kyle said. "That asshole." He was smiling fondly as he said so, and again Stan envisioned them as kids at the bus stop, arguing viciously over their breast milk supply. Considering that Kyle had once pretended to get his period to compete with Cartman, it wasn't very hard to imagine.

"She didn't care too much for the bottle," Stan said as they both gazed down at Elway, watching her sleep. "She was pretty ornery the whole time you were gone, actually. She missed you."

"I can't ever leave her," Kyle said. He seemed earnest, but also like he was talking in his sleep. "Not ever, Stan. I have to bring her to class."

"Kay. We'll get you a very discreet baby carrier."

Kyle moaned and curled toward Stan, quickly asleep. Stan held him, already close to sleep himself. The following day would be August 1st. Kyle was due in Fort Collins for college orientation in two weeks. Stan closed his eyes and tried to think about nothing but the fact that Kyle didn't feel feverish anymore, just warm.

They were released four days later, when Kyle was able to walk without pain or hunching. Albright gave Elway her exit examination, and she left the hospital weighing almost seven pounds. Kyle had been raving about how excited he was to finally be outside for more than a few minutes in the smoky hospital courtyard, making lists of all the things he couldn't wait to do, but on the way to the car he was quiet, hugging Elway to him in her sling. She was wearing a little green hat made by Tweek, which had been brought by Craig when he surprised them with a visit two days earlier. There was talk of the whole gang getting together that Sunday. Only Token and Clyde were still in the hospital, though they expected to leave by the end of the week.

Sheila drove, and Kyle and Stan rode in the backseat with Elway buckled into her car seat between them. Stan thought she might be amazed and wide-eyed when she encountered the outside world, but she mostly seemed sleepy. Kyle put his head against the window and watched the once-familiar scenery passing by as if it he was seeing a vision of a past life, things he hadn't known that he loved until he lost them.

"You okay?" Stan asked, reaching across Elway's seat to touch Kyle's shoulder.

"I don't know," Kyle said. "I feel - nervous."

"You can always come stay with us if you feel that way!" Sheila said. She'd been emotional all morning about the prospect of driving them to the Marsh house after leaving the hospital.

"It's not that," Kyle said. "It's, like. I thought I'd mastered this, but now it's a whole new ball game."

"You'll master this part, too," Stan said.

"I can't imagine driving," Kyle said. "God, I have to drive to Fort Collins in a week for orientation. By myself," he said, glancing over at Stan.

"I'll come," Stan said. "My mom can watch Ellie - or Sheila could," he added hurriedly when she looked at them in the rear view mirror.

"That's right, Kyle!" she said. "Don't be afraid to depend on us. You'll have to if you want to stay sane."

"But my baby," Kyle said, leaning onto her seat. "I'd miss her." He reached down to take her hand between his thumb and forefinger, and the sound Elway made when she looked over at Kyle made Stan's eyes burn. It seemed like a combination of complaint and reassurance, a little _mph_ that Stan thought he'd heard Kyle make before, maybe when he was just waking up, annoyed to be roused but glad to find Stan there to kiss him.

Stan had seen only snatches of his parents over the past few weeks, and as soon as he was through the door of the house he fell into his mom's arms and hugged her hard, feeling as if he'd just come back from war. His dad pressed a beer into his hand before hugging him. Shelly was leaning on the railing of the front stairs, also drinking a beer.

"You should pump so you can have one," Stan said to Kyle, because he wanted him to feel like a Marsh.

"I hate beer," Kyle said. "But. Thanks."

"We'll get you some wine coolers, bud, or whatever you like," Randy said, and Stan wanted to slap his forehead, but he didn't, because his dad was trying to be nice.

Upstairs, Stan sat on the bed and drank his beer while Kyle and Sharon bustled around the room arranging things. He'd taken the night off of work, and he was looking forward to eating pizza in front of the living room TV with his family - his whole family, complete now with Kyle and the baby under the same roof.

"Are you sure you don't want to get a crib?" Sharon asked as Kyle settled onto the bed with Elway.

"Yes, I'm sure," Kyle said. "She eats every three hours or so, and this way I can feed her without getting up. Don't worry," he said, very seriously. "I've been reading all about co-sleeping. I could write my own damn book on it at this point. All I've done for the past month is read about baby stuff and liposuction." He sighed. "I'm going to be so lost at school. I've re-engineered by brain into this domestic fluff-land."

"Oh, honey," Sharon said, standing in the doorway with an armload of dirty laundry that they'd pulled out of the bags they brought home. "Don't get liposuction. You'll lose the weight."

"Right," Kyle said, so dryly that she left without further comment. Kyle looked over at Stan, who had stretched out along his side. "Never mind about me flunking out of college, I'll lose the weight."

"Dude, you know you won't flunk," Stan said. "Look, we're home. Finally. Aren't you happy?"

"Happiness is a dog sunning itself on a rock," Kyle said. Stan had heard this before. It was one of Kyle's favorite quotes, by some poet, and Kyle usually said it when he didn't want to admit that yes, all things considered, he was pretty happy. Stan kissed him over the bridge of his nose, then did the same to Elway. "Look at her, though," Kyle said, turning toward her a little. She was in the valley between them on the bed, her arms and legs moving with an excited, trembly energy. "I mean, really, Stan. Just look at her."

"I know," Stan said.

"I'm going to cry all the way to Fort Collins," Kyle said, but his tears only lasted until the outer limits of Denver when they left for CSU orientation a week later. Kyle called his mother to check on the baby four times during the drive. She didn't answer the fourth call, just sent back a text message that said, _Enough, young man!_

The afternoon of the orientation was blisteringly hot, and it was surreal to be surrounded by teenagers. Wendy and Token were attending orientation, too, but Stan ignored their text messages about meeting up for lunch. It was too nice just to be with Kyle again, wandering around holding hands and peeking at the buildings that were all brand new to them.

"I hate this," Kyle said after lunch.

"What?" Stan said, surprised. Kyle had seemed to be in a good mood since they reached the campus.

"I hate that you're not coming with me!" Kyle said. "Look around, look how _landscaped_ everything is. And the way the buildings smell, like, like sociology courses and research labs. Don't you want this, too?"

"It's too late now," Stan said. He had been feeling a little left out and sad throughout the day, but it was a simmering, bearable feeling, less intense than how happy he was for Kyle and how eager he was to get home and reclaim Elway from Sheila. Elway had been developing a more discernible personality in recent days, and every little twitch and glance seemed significant. Stan loved waking up to find her and Kyle both in bed with him. He always wanted them that close.

"It's not too late," Kyle said. "Spring semester!"

"Or next year," Stan said with a shrug. He was more enthusiastic about the idea of quitting work than starting college. "We'll see."

Kyle sighed and threaded his arm around Stan's waist while they walked. He was sweaty from the heat, and Stan could feel the dampness of Kyle's skin through his t-shirt. They still hadn't had anything resembling satisfying sex since Elway was born, though they had jerked each other off in the shower a few times.

"I thought I'd want to pretend for a few hours," Kyle said as they strolled through campus together, going nowhere in particular. "You know, that we were here for good, that we'd gotten our little apartment, that we'd left South Park forever. But I don't want to imagine my life without her, it's just horrible to think about."

"I know," Stan said. "But it's okay if you envy your classmates who don't have kids sometimes. It doesn't mean you don't love her."

"That's the thing, though," Kyle said. "When we were sitting there during that orientation address, I didn't envy them. I feel like I know something they don't."

"You do," Stan said. "Do you ever stop and think about how huge it is, what you went through? And how you wake up in the middle of the night because you know that this little person who you _made_ needs you, even before she starts crying? I'm in awe of you, like, all the time, dude."

Kyle laughed, brushing this off, but Stan could see the flush of heat on his cheeks deepening.

"I'm glad we didn't run into Wendy or Token," Kyle said. "I like this - I miss Ellie, but this is nice. Just you and me."

"My thoughts exactly," Stan said.

"Kenny, though," Kyle said. "I wouldn't mind seeing him."

"I don't think he's here," Stan said. He was angry with Kenny at the moment. A few days before they'd received a fat letter at the house, addressed to Butters and Daisy McCormick, c/o The Marsh Family. Inside was two thousand dollars cash and a postcard from Austin, Texas that only said, _Love, K_ on the back, as if the money was the message.

"He's going through a hard time," Kyle said. "He'll - figure things out."

"We should get on the road soon," Stan said, not wanting to talk about it. "Traffic will be bad around the city."

"Okay," Kyle said. It was still hot outside, but the sun had gotten more buttery than blistering, and the campus was less crowded that it had been during the afternoon orientation activities. "You know what we should do, though?" Kyle asked. "For old times sake?"

"What?" Stan asked, hoping he was right about the smile that was widening on Kyle's face.

"Sex," Kyle whispered. "I mean, it's crazy," he said, putting his hands on Stan's chest and leaning up to touch his nose to Stan's. "I feel really giddy about being with you right now, like it's our first date or something."

"Yeah," Stan said, grinning, because he knew what Kyle meant. "But where?"

"Where? Oh, the sex, hmm. Let's scout out a place."

"What about condoms?" Stan said.

"I don't think we need to worry, dude," Kyle said. "Unless you think Henrietta spiked your water bottle with pregnancy juice."

"Kyle," Stan said. "We don't really know what the long term effects are, and your womb is still intact, and do you really want to go through all that again, when you just got free of the doctors-"

"Alright, God, fine," Kyle said, sighing. He reached into his pocket. "I thought you might say that, so." He showed Stan two condom packages, and Stan grinned.

"You want to go twice?" he said.

"Yes, fucker!" Kyle shoved him, then moaned and pulled him back by the front of his shirt. "It's been, what? A month and a half? I need you, Stan, God."

"Okay," Stan said, and he took Kyle's wrist as he shoved the condoms back into his pocket with his other hand. "Let's find a place."

In some ways, Stan felt younger than he ever had as they wound through mostly empty buildings, snickering and trying to work up their courage, balking and running for some dark classroom that was more secluded before balking at that one, too. Finally they settled on a room in the history department that smelled of old chalk, and they made a fort of desks in the back corner, stretching a tarp-sized map of Imperial Russia over the desk tops for cover.

"This is so not inconspicuous," Kyle said as he stripped out of his pants.

"We'd be caught if someone walked in anyway," Stan said. He was already breathing fast, and he'd been hard for what felt like hours, walking stiffly while they searched for the perfect private spot. "This way, at least we could cover ourselves up before, you know, being seen."

"This is so reckless," Kyle said, pulling the little bottle of lube that they used to keep in Stan's glove compartment out of his pocket. Stan was nostalgic at the sight of it, and he kissed it, which made Kyle laugh.

It felt like sex on a first date, both of them nervous, hearts pounding and hands slick as they kissed and ground against each other. Just fingering Kyle made Stan feel like he might come against Kyle's sweaty thigh, and he had to bite his lip until it hurt to make himself calm down. Without the condom, he would have blown his load as soon as Kyle started to slide down onto him, his head falling back shamelessly as he took it in small increments. Even with the condom Stan didn't last very long, and he was glad Kyle had thought to bring two.

"I love you," he moaned into Kyle's mouth, for that, for everything. Kyle grinned and nodded, sweat dripping from the ends of his curls.

"I don't think they've got the air conditioning turned on in here yet," he said, whispering, and for some reason it was the funniest thing Stan had ever heard in his life. Kyle accused him of being drunk because he was laughing so hard, but Kyle was laughing, too, and Stan thought he probably got the joke.

They waited until they'd hit Thornton to use the second condom, and Stan pulled over behind a laundromat that was closed. Kyle rode him in the driver's seat and Stan came even harder than he had in the history classroom, sobbing with relief as he buried his face against Kyle's neck. He had Kyle's come on his stomach, on his shirt, and the smell of sex was finally stronger than the lingering stink of sulfur.

"I need you so much," Stan said, still inside Kyle, feeling panicked with the urge to tell him something that he was too overwhelmed to find the words for.

"I'm here," Kyle said, stroking Stan's cheek. He looked concerned, like Stan had just said something slightly devastating. "Whatever you need, just take it, okay? Just take it, it's yours."

The drive back to South Park was slow, clogged with traffic, and at first they were too smug and satiated from sex to care much, but by the time they got past Denver Kyle was cursing other drivers and Stan was anxious to be home with Elway. Sheila answered both of Kyle's calls, telling him that she would be at the Marsh house with Elway, Gerald, and Ike, because they were all having a cookout together. Stan wasn't sure what to expect, and he feared a long debate about the virtues of Judaism and Catholicism, but when they arrived at the house the mood was much more relaxed and jovial, probably because everyone – including Ike, it seemed – had indulged in a few drinks by the time Stan and Kyle showed up.

"Baby!" Kyle said, dashing for Elway as soon as they were through the door. She gave him a toothless smile as he scooped her out of Sheila's arms, the biggest one Stan had seen. Most of her previous smiles had been subtle hints at happiness that had to be carefully interpreted as such, but this was unmistakable. She cried a little as Kyle hugged her and kissed her, and it seemed like she was only upset because she could hardly bear how relieved she was.

"Babies think that if they can't see someone, they're gone forever," Ike said, holding up one finger while he spoke, which was something he always did when he'd sneaked liquor. "It's a scientific thing."

"Dude," Stan said, elbowing him. He didn't want Kyle thinking about that. Kyle seemed unfazed, rocking Elway in his arms and whispering to her, telling her how much he'd missed her. Stan was afraid she wouldn't care too much about his own reappearance, but when he stroked her head she turned to look at him, and he felt it in his chest when she was glad to see him.

The sun went down and everyone stood outside around the grill, Kyle keeping a fair distance so that Elway wouldn't be bothered by the smoke. He'd fed her and pumped enough for the night so that he could enjoy a wine cooler or two while she dozed against his chest in her new carrier. Randy had brought the wine coolers home for Kyle, and he had tried one only as a gesture of politeness, but apparently he actually liked them quite a lot.

"Were you ever able to get in touch with Henrietta?" Kyle asked as they watched Randy take the last of the burgers off the grill. Sharon was setting the outdoor table, which was crowded with eight chairs, and Sheila was arranging the sides in a buffet-style setup on the kitchen counter. Gerald and Shelly were arguing about basketball, and Ike was asleep on the couch inside.

"I've tried calling her a few times," Stan said. "I don't think she wants to talk to me."

"Ridiculous," Kyle said. "She should be begging for your forgiveness."

"You really think so?" Stan asked, stroking Elway's hair. She had a little more than she'd had at the hospital, and Kyle claimed that it was because she was less stressed, cozier at home.

"Well, yeah," Kyle said. "She didn't know everything would turn out okay."

Stan hugged Kyle to him, careful not to press up against Elway firmly enough to wake her. Despite the many times he'd said so, he'd never really been confident that things would turn out okay. This was okay, though, and more than that. The food smelled good, the evening air was mild and sweet, Elway was perfect, Kyle still loved him so much that he'd cried a little when Stan was finally inside him again, and their parents were laughing together like they were one family, not two. It was more than Stan had known how to hope for, but now it all seemed irreplaceable: the napkins that were weighted with silverware so they wouldn't blow away, the late summer bugs singing in the yard, the bump of Kyle's elbow against his as he reached for the ketchup. Stan felt like he understood what it was to work a magic spell, because it was all so delicate and ridiculously important, a miracle that could be held between two careful hands.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Here's the epilogue at last! After this I'll do a short epilogue to the epilogue (?) that will basically be the length of the prologue, also from Henrietta's POV, and there will be glimpses of what happens to everyone further on down the line. So this longer epilogue is really Chapter 15, I guess. Thanks for waiting and for reading guys, I've really enjoyed working on this story and have appreciated all of your feedback!

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><p>Stan was trying to concentrate at work, but the phone in his office kept ringing. Without needing to peer through the mirrored window that looked down on the store, he knew that it was the cashier calling about a void. Though it was against company policy, he decided to give her his manager key so she could undo accidental double swipes herself. It was that or fire her, and Stan didn't like the idea of having that kind of authority, so he pretended he didn't.<p>

She accepted the key with a combination of trepidation and relief that Stan chose to interpret as a good sign, and he returned to his office to resume his work. Two to four in the morning were his prime songwriting hours, because he had dinner and coffee at one o'clock, and after an hour he had a good combination of caffeine and processed energy to give him a kind of second wind. The only truly hard part of his shift was four to six, because by then he was creatively drained and newly tired, and the hours dragged as he waited to be allowed to drive home and get in bed with Kyle and Ellie. If things were truly grim he would pull up Kyle's Facebook page and look through the hundreds of pictures of Ellie that he'd posted in the past two years. Her whole babyhood was thoroughly documented on Facebook, and having this as a resource when work seemed particularly soul killing allowed Stan to finally see the point of the whole venture, though he still didn't have his own Facebook page.

At four o'clock he helped himself to a chocolate milk from the fridge near the front registers and checked on the cashier. It seemed odd to him that such a young girl should want a night shift at a pharmacy by the highway, but she was a friend of Karen's and she was sweet, which to Stan was more important than competence, because they rarely saw more than ten customers a night. Whenever one was in the store he would keep an eye on things, and if it was a guy, or two guys, he would walk down from his office and mill around so that they knew the cashier wasn't the only person in the store. Her name was Liz and she spent most of her shift reading fantasy novels and making weird collage art from the unsold magazines that were old enough to go into the recycling pile. She smelled like a glue stick and wore too much makeup, but Stan liked spending his shift in her distant company, because he felt like the only really important part of his job was making sure she made it through each night safely.

"I'm thinking about going to pharmacy school," she said when Stan walked her to her car at the end of their shift. "Is that a thing?"

"UC Denver has a program," Stan said, because he'd looked into it himself. The only thing he missed about working the register was the idea that he was assisting the pharmacist in making people feel better. Also, the pharmacist got paid a lot more than the night manager.

"Oh," Liz said. "I was hoping there was a two-year program or something. You have to do the whole regular college thing?"

"Yep," Stan said. "You don't want to do that?"

"Well," she said. "I don't know if I can, you know?"

"I know," Stan said. "I'm still saving up so we can move to Fort Collins, and Kyle wants me to go to school there if we do, but that's a whole other, you know. Expense. Could you get a scholarship, maybe?"

"That's for smart kids," Liz said, giving him a look. "I graduated, but my grades weren't good."

"A loan?" Stan said. "Pharmacists get paid pretty well, so. You could pay it back."

"So why don't you do that?" she asked as they came to stand beside her car, an old Dodge Durango that was covered with a thin film of frost. "'Cause you have a kid?"

"Well, yeah," Stan said. "But I might, you know. I'm thinking about it. Maybe after Ellie starts school, but that's a ways off."

"Alright," she said, and she lifted her hand to wave at him. "Later, man. See you tomorrow."

"Yep," Stan said, glad that it was Friday. He had Saturday and Sunday nights off, though he did work on Saturday, sort of, playing a three hour set at a steakhouse in Colorado Springs. It doubled as his date night with Kyle, who would sit at a table near the little stage doing homework while he waited for Stan's dinner break.

It was the fifth of May, still cold, but summer was coming and Stan was glad. Kyle would take only one course during the summer, a math class with lectures that he could attend online. After all the endless problems with the car, it would be nice for him not to have to commute except on test days, and they would get to see more of each other. Their first winter with Ellie had been hard, and the second hadn't been much easier, but during the warmer months they could play with her in the yard and take her out without worrying that the cold would make her sick, and the house felt a lot less claustrophobic.

Stan was home by quarter after six, grateful at least for his short commute. Kyle's was almost unthinkable, and though he only had classes three days a week, twelve hours in the car per week took its toll. He'd had to defer his first semester after a nightmarish two weeks of attempting to adjust to the commute, college courses and Ellie's constant demands. It was a big blow to Kyle, who felt like a failure and a quitter, but Stan was confident that things would have been far worse if Kyle hadn't given himself those four months to get accustomed to caring for the baby before he dove into college coursework. They had a better balance now, a schedule, and it was taxing at times but ultimately it worked.

Stan's parents were in the kitchen when he came in, getting ready for work. He ate a frozen waffle and told them about his workday, though there was really nothing to tell: the store was slow as usual, nobody tried to rob them, and the single employee who he oversaw was doing fine. He chugged some orange juice and hurried upstairs to his bed, which he'd been obsessively fantasizing about for the past two hours. Walking into his room, he was immediately calmed by the slightly humid warmth inside the room, and by the sound of the little floor fan that was pointed at the wall, providing white noise. Stan stripped off his jacket and hung it over his desk chair, stepped out of his boots and took off his khakis. Kyle's alarm would go off in forty minutes, and Stan always tried to let him sleep until it did, though Ellie usually made this difficult. He got into bed behind Kyle as carefully as possible, wearing his boxers and his sweater, and he thought he'd succeeded when Ellie stayed still under Kyle's arm, but as soon as Stan tucked his face to the back of Kyle's neck, she was awake.

"Daddy!" she said, sitting up.

"Shh," Stan said, holding his finger to his lips. She did the same, grinning. "He's sleeping," Stan whispered, and he pet Kyle's hair before reaching over to stroke Ellie's into place. It was full of static, fluffy and lighter than Kyle's, the ends curling into soft little whorls.

"Ping," Ellie said, because lately she was obsessed with saying the second half of whatever word she'd last heard. Stan wasn't sure if they should be worried about this, language development-wise. Kyle was confident that it wasn't a problem.

Kyle moaned, clearly awake despite Stan's efforts, and he reached back to find Stan's hand. When he hugged it to his chest Ellie put her hand on Stan's, too, petting his knuckles like they were the spine of a little animal.

"What time is it?" Kyle asked.

"Time sit," Ellie said, laying her head down next to Kyle's again, still petting Stan's hand.

"You've got some time," Stan said. "Want me to take her downstairs?"

"No, it's fine," Kyle said. "I'm awake, anyway."

"Is he awake?" Stan asked Ellie. She studied Kyle, who was still curled up on his side with his eyes closed, spooned into Stan.

"No!" she declared happily, and Stan grinned.

"Well, maybe I'm not awake," Kyle said. "But I'm not asleep, either. Clearly. How was work?"

"Deeply rewarding," Stan said, and he felt bad for being a smart ass. "Not bad, though, actually. I got some work done. Some real work, I mean, writing stuff."

"That's good," Kyle said. He rolled onto his back with a groan and smiled against Stan's lips when he leaned down for a kiss. Ellie made a kissy noise and Kyle rolled toward her again, kissing her face until she laughed and squirmed free.

Stan was able to keep Ellie entertained by singing to her softly while Kyle dozed between them. Ellie sang along under her breath in half-words, whispering as if Kyle was actually asleep and not just lying there waiting for the alarm to go off. When it did, Stan hit snooze for him and curled up around him, hugging him close. Ellie mimicked him, and Kyle tucked her to his chest. He'd gotten progressively flatter throughout the first year of Ellie's life, until his milk dried up and he just looked a bit flabby, but Ellie was still prone to nuzzling him there, and so was Stan.

"Why?" Ellie asked when Kyle started to get up, creaking and moaning.

"Some days I don't know," Kyle said.

"Daddy has to go to school," Stan said, supplying Kyle with his motivation as he slid from the bed. "And you get to go see Butters and Daisy."

"Mhm," Ellie said, as if she wasn't terribly interested in that this morning. They'd had this arrangement with Butters since Kyle's first full semester at school, and it worked well, giving Stan time to sleep, Kyle time for class and allowing the kids to share a sibling-like bond. Kyle thought it was good for Butters, too, because the kids gave him plenty of work to fill his days with. He didn't have a job and didn't go to school, but he had his own apartment with a gas fireplace and a washer and dryer, thanks to the envelopes full of cash that came from Kenny at least once a month. Kenny still hadn't sent a proper note or talked to anyone about what the hell he was doing. The money only came with postcards from different places, and the postcards always said the same thing: _Remember I love you_.

"Time for baby to get dressed," Kyle said when he was wearing his usual campus attire: saggy jeans and one of Stan's unwashed sweaters. He lifted Ellie out of bed and brought her over to the bureau, where her things took up three drawers. A wardrobe that had once mostly been Stan's occupied the bottom two. Kyle was still fond of wearing Stan's clothes, and if Stan got particularly attached to a shirt it was a given that Kyle would follow this up with a period of his own deep attachment to it, until some other thing that Stan regularly wore caught his eye.

"Doesn't that irritate you?" Wendy had asked him after he described the phenomenon at brunch, where Craig had taken Kenny's place after five reportedly traumatic months in New York that he refused to discuss.

"It doesn't bother me," Stan had said. "I feel like the shirts aren't really mine _until_ Kyle steals them. If that makes sense."

"Doesn't he stretch them out?" Craig had asked, because he never tired of remarking upon the fact that Kyle hadn't lost much of the baby weight.

"Some people like having their stuff stretched out," Stan said, hoping that Craig would understand that he was being metaphorical. Craig made no indication that he had, but Stan thought he must know something about this, since he'd returned to his clumsier, more worn-in life. Tweek told Butters, who then told everyone else, that Craig had simply climbed through the window one night and dropped into bed with him. Tweek had put his arms around Craig without lifting his head, assuming it was a dream, because Craig generally wasn't a window-climber, even if making a dramatic and unannounced return home in the middle of the night.

Craig had begun designing children's clothing almost immediately upon returning home, and Stan watched with tired contentment as Kyle dressed Ellie in one of Craig's creations, a pink and gray dress made from a heavy, fleece-like material that Stan couldn't identify. Kyle put her in tights and little booties, and snapped a pink barrette with two smiling whales on it into her hair.

"Have your parents left already?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah," Stan said. "They were on their way out when I came in."

"Good," Kyle said, taking Ellie's coat from the back of Stan's desk chair. "We like it when we have the kitchen to ourselves," he said, hoisting her up into his arms. "Don't we?"

She nodded. She could always tell when Kyle wanted her to agree with him, and seemed to have inherited Stan's willingness to do so.

"Say goodbye to Daddy," Kyle said, bringing her over to the bed. She made a whiny, reluctant noise and Stan sat up to hug her. She wasn't prone to tantrums, but would occasionally have one when she was pried out of Stan's arms, or when Kyle left her with Butters and Daisy.

"Daddy," she said, sounding sleepy again as she clung to Stan's neck. She called both of them 'Daddy,' but also occasionally called Kyle 'Ky-a' or just 'Ay-a.' He didn't care for either name, but he answered to both, and also to the occasional 'Mommy.' Kyle and Ellie seemed to have some instinctual understanding about when that was appropriate, and it was rarely in public.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" Stan said when Ellie whined as Kyle eased her from Stan's grip.

"It's Daddy's turn to sleep," Kyle said.

"Why?" Ellie asked.

"Because he works at night, honey," Kyle said. He kissed her cheek and gave Stan a look of tired longing that was almost identical to Ellie's. "Tell him to have a good rest, okay?"

She refused, hiding her face against Kyle's shoulder in protest. On Saturday nights Kyle and Stan usually came home well after Sharon had put her to bed in her crib, in the room that had once been Shelly's. They would leave her there for the night, and she was good about sleeping there alone until morning, the baby monitor humming quietly on their bedside table. The three of them spent their Sundays together - Stan's weekly brunch had been shifted to Saturday - and Ellie slept between both of them on Sunday nights, which Sharon said they shouldn't do, because it got her re-accustomed to wanting them both with her in bed, disrupting the progress of the Saturday night she'd spent alone. Stan knew his mother was right, but it felt too unnatural to part from Ellie after she'd fallen asleep between them in bed while they read to her. Stan was always at least as traumatized as Ellie by the return to normalcy on Monday nights, when he would have to leave her and Kyle in bed after story time and get ready for work.

He lay there with his eyes closed, listening to the distant sounds of Kyle and Ellie having their breakfast downstairs - the ding of the toaster, a peel of laughter that indicated her mood had already improved - and he didn't actually fall asleep until he'd heard Kyle's car pulling out of the driveway. It was lonely but peaceful, and the bed smelled like them.

Stan woke a few times, and rolled over to sleep again without looking at the clock on the bedside table. The nice thing about their schedule was that he didn't have to set an alarm or worry about oversleeping. Kyle usually returned home from his classes around four in the afternoon, a few hours before Stan's parents got home from work, and he would wake Stan by slipping quietly into the room and pressing up against him in bed, the fan still blowing against the wall.

"Hey," Kyle whispered that afternoon when he returned. It was his usual greeting, soft and slightly seductive. Sometimes he came in enraged because of traffic or class and Stan had to hear all about it. Stan had been asleep for almost nine hours, and though he knew it was kind of lazy, he'd tried getting up and puttering around the house while he waited for Kyle's return, and it just wasn't as nice as this.

"Hey," Stan returned, rolling against Kyle, who nuzzled and pet him like he was recovering from an illness, which always felt so appropriate and necessary. Stan moaned and nudged his face against Kyle's, his eyes still closed. Kyle smelled like cinnamon and hot milk; he'd probably had a latte instead of a real lunch. "How was class?"

"Fine," Kyle said, and he sighed heavily. "I've got a shitload of work to do tonight."

"But it's Friday," Stan said.

"Yeah, well. You're working, anyway. What else am I going to do?"

"You could hang out with Butters," Stan said. He cracked his eyes open and pulled Kyle on top of him. "You know he just sits there alone-"

"That's not our fault," Kyle said. "We socialize him thirty minutes a day during drop offs and pick ups. That's enough, goddammit. There's only so much I can think of to say to that guy."

"Mean," Stan said, though he knew Kyle was right. He kissed him so that they wouldn't get into an actual argument about it, and Kyle melted easily, rubbing himself down onto Stan until they were both a little hard. This was their designated time of day for sex, and Stan found it pretty perfect: it woke him up as gently as it calmed Kyle down from the stress of class and his commute.

"And speaking of socializing Butters," Kyle said, lifting his face from Stan's neck. "I've got to bring the Elster over to stay with my mother for a few days next week. She's been complaining that she never sees her."

"I'm assuming you mean Sheila," Stan said. "Not Ellie."

"She likes my mom," Kyle said, frowning.

"That's not what I meant," Stan said, though it kind of was. He preferred to imagine Ellie in the calm sanctuary of Butters' and Daisy's little world. Sheila was a good grandmother for the most part, but she was overly critical, and she ran errands and had people over to her house for various committee meetings, whereas Butters was stationary and alone, which Stan found comforting in terms of who his daughter was exposed to while he wasn't there to oversee things.

"I don't think Butters is using that organic peanut butter we brought," Kyle said when Stan rolled him over onto his back. They were both good at integrating small talk into sex, and had been even as teenagers, but sometimes Stan was more in the mood for moaning and gasps.

"What makes you think he's not using our peanut butter?" Stan asked.

"Because I checked the jar and he's barely scratched the surface! And I gave it to him weeks ago."

"You checked the jar?"

"Yes, and I saw Jiff in his fridge. Jiff, Stan!"

"I think it's called Jiffy. And, I mean, I want her to eat organic, too, but we grew up eating sugary peanut butter, and-"

"And now I'm as fat as a cow!" Kyle said. "I don't want her to suffer like I have."

"You know you're not fat, so stop," Stan said. He reached under Kyle's shirt and ran his hands over the softer spots that he most appreciated. "And, just. What is Butters doing while you're snooping through his fridge and his cabinets?"

"I don't know, changing a diaper or something," Kyle said. He sighed, spreading his legs a little when Stan rubbed his nipples. "Could you suck my dick?" he asked. "I'm really tense."

Stan could, and did, but Kyle only let him do it for half a minute, as usual. He always thought he wanted a blow job, but was quick to redirect Stan's mouth a little lower, and Stan wondered if Kyle was just too embarrassed to ask for what he really wanted until they were deeply in the heat of the moment. Stan didn't need to be asked, anyway. He knew what to do when Kyle lifted his hips and picked up his legs by the backs of his knees, pulling them against his chest. Stan loved Kyle's thighs so much when they were spread for him like this, trembling and vulnerable, the hairless white undersides showing. He always had to lick them a little bit, too. Kyle didn't seem to mind.

It was a foreplay-heavy afternoon, which was fine by Stan, who still couldn't last very long once he was actually inside Kyle. Even during their condom phase he had rarely lasted more than four minutes, though that was partly due to the fact that they had sex so infrequently in those early months of Ellie's life. Eventually they had determined that it was safe to have sex again without condoms, because Kyle's womb had seemingly evaporated around the time his milk supply dried up. There had been numerous articles written about the pregnant boys, both medical and otherwise, and Kyle had always declined interviews. Cartman and Wendy had taken every opportunity to give them, and they were using the money to fund their college educations. Kyle had offered to do this for the sake of Stan's college career at one point, but Stan knew he didn't really want to, and he wouldn't have wanted it, either. Neither of them wanted to jinx the miracle of their daughter by profiting off of it.

Slightly preoccupied with his inability to last very long, Stan was fond of changing positions, and it became a sort of workout that made him feel fully awake by the time they were on position three or four, which usually involved Kyle on his hands and knees or grabbing the headboard. The most challenging and tiring positions were the ones he saved for last: Kyle on his lap, just hovering there while Stan drove up into him, or, if he was feeling particularly energetic or determined to squeeze out thirty more seconds, he would stand up with Kyle in his arms and do a somewhat awkward vertical fuck motion that made Kyle beg and scratch at Stan's shoulders, because the angle wasn't anything special and Stan couldn't give it to him as hard as he liked. Today he ended up propping Kyle against the wall near the window, and he was afraid Kyle would rip the curtains down when he took a handful of them for traction. He didn't, probably distantly concerned about this himself, and they both moaned when Stan came, sweaty and panting. Stan was impressed with himself. His active thrusting time had to have approached five minutes total. He mouthed at Kyle's neck, feeling like he could sleep again, still stuffed inside Kyle and holding him up.

"Dude," Kyle said, sliding his fingers through Stan's hair. "Bed."

"I know," Stan said, and he carried Kyle there.

They were always giddy in a shivery sort of way after they'd had sex, because it felt like it had back at the beginning, when it was secret and quiet, a new clubhouse that they were building for each other every day. As kids they had grown apart in a few important ways that were devastating for Stan. He didn't know at the time that Kyle was destroyed by this, too, because Kyle had been much better about hiding his feelings, which made Stan feel like he needed to learn to give less of a shit about Kyle, which was impossible. When they finally had something that was just theirs again it was like waking up in new skin, everything remade. Their differences no longer seemed to matter much, because they had _this_ in common, and they needed it more than everything else.

"You know this keeps me sane on the way home," Kyle said when they were lying together, Kyle's leg slung across Stan's hipbones, his arm hugged over Stan's heaving chest. "During that commute. If I didn't have this to look forward to I'd go crazy."

"I know," Stan said, thinking of his long shifts at work. "That's why I feel so bad for Butters."

"Oh, God," Kyle said. "Me too, but what do you want me to do? Try to set him up with someone? Remember when we thought he and Tweek should get together, after Craig left?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "That was really dumb."

"Well, it was your idea!"

"I just thought - they're both so nice, and they're really into parenthood-"

"Stan, please. They're both emotionally unstable bottoms. Which I told you from the start."

"Anyway," Stan said. "Craig came back. Maybe, you know."

"Oh, right." Kyle sat up and fussed with his hair. Stan loved the way he looked from this angle, the way the muscles in his back moved when he stretched his arms over his head. Kyle's upper body had gotten a little stronger from all the baby wrangling in the past year. "Craig came back after five months," Kyle said, turning toward him. "Kenny's been gone almost two years."

"Well, he's obviously still thinking about them. The postcards-"

"I can't believe you're defending him! Those postcards are an insult! He can't even spare a sentence worth of explanation? He was never great with words, but he's not fucking illiterate."

"I'm not defending him," Stan said. "Especially not the fact that he hasn't written or called any of us. I'm just saying that I don't think he'll be gone forever. When the statute of limitations on assault runs out-"

"If he would actually deign to call Butters he'd know that he's on much better terms with his parents now! That punch or whatever is ancient history. He's acting like a coward."

Stan wanted to note that this was easy for someone who wasn't facing a year of jail time to say, but for the most part he thought Kyle was right. Mr. Stotch had mellowed a lot after becoming a grandfather, and having Butters move out of the house seemed to help the whole family unclench. Stan really didn't think Butters' father would press charges against Kenny, and he was afraid that the risk of being prosecuted wasn't the only reason Kenny was staying away.

They took a shower together, and Kyle had his usual aftershock orgasm when Stan cleaned him. He'd never been so multi-orgasmic before the pregnancy, and Stan was afraid it would fade like the tits and the womb had, but it had outlasted both for almost a year. Kyle was dozy afterward, resting against Stan's chest while Stan washed him in other, less stimulating ways.

"I should be more sympathetic toward Butters, I know," Kyle said. "I'm so spoiled. I can't imagine not having this."

"This?" Stan said.

"You," Kyle said. He wound his arms more tightly around Stan's chest, squeezing him with the new strength that still surprised Stan at times. "And this, this right here. I guess when I was younger I used to worry you'd get fed up with me and leave. Now I feel so fucking - safe, I don't know. I mean, we went _through_ something, Stan. If I'd done that alone, or just with my parents, I think it would have felt more like crashing into something."

"Damn," Stan said. "Can I use that in a song?"

"Only if it's instrumental," Kyle said.

They dried off and had what they referred to as their afternoon tea, a quick meal of cheese and bread in the kitchen before they left to pick up Ellie. It was generally when they discussed more serious or practical matters that wouldn't fit as easily between sex acts. Kyle actually had tea, something green that was supposed to aid weight loss, and Stan had a beer.

"We should start thinking about her birthday," Kyle said as they were cleaning up.

"Dude, really? It's not for almost, what? Three months."

"So? There are so many options! It will be hot outside, so I was thinking maybe a pool party with all the babies in little floaties, but then I was also thinking that I don't want to be seen in a bathing suit, and we don't know anyone who owns a pool, unless we count Token's parents, and we don't really _know_ them."

"Whistlin' Willy's?" Stan suggested.

"Ugh, no! Does Whistlin' Willy's use organic ingredients? I doubt it. Plus, they're too young for the games. So I was thinking maybe a tea party theme? Since most of the kids are girls."

When he referred to 'most of the kids' he was talking about the progeny of the pregnant boys. The ones still living in South Park were in fact all girls, because Token and Clyde had some posh apartment in Fort Collins. Token had virtually no commute to school, and was quietly loathed by Kyle and Wendy for this, and also for having a partner who didn't work, thereby eliminating the need for parental childcare. Clyde had been quite fat the last time he and Token had visited South Park, but he seemed happy in a way that had made Kyle, Cartman, and even Craig seethe with envy. Stan was just glad things had turned out okay for them. Little Nathan's first year of life had been interrupted by numerous medical complications, but he seemed to be doing just fine when they brought him to town to celebrate his second birthday. He was still the smallest and shyest of all the kids. Kinglet was still the biggest, and the most prone to hitting things with sticks. Cartman had grand plans for her professional golf career.

It had warmed up outside, though the sun would set in an hour. Stan rolled his window down while Kyle drove them to Butters' apartment complex. He almost always accompanied Kyle to pick up Ellie, and not just so Butters would have someone other than Kyle and the babies to chat with. He loved the look on Ellie's face when they both showed up to reclaim her, like it was Christmas morning every time.

"I wish that deadbeat would send us a few thousand bucks once in a while," Kyle said as they waited for the apartment complex's gate to open. It was a beautiful new development with views of the mountains from every balcony, and Stan almost reminded Kyle that they _did_ know someone who had a pool, because the one at Butters' complex looked pretty nice.

"Don't call him a deadbeat," Stan said. "Kenny made mistakes, okay, but it wasn't that simple and you know it."

"I just wish he'd figure out Butters' goddamn address somehow," Kyle said. "So we don't have to feel how fat those envelopes full of cash are. What is he even doing for all that money? He was never a very good drug dealer."

"I don't like to think about it," Stan said. It was an understatement. He was haunted by nightmares about Kenny in some anonymous city, a rail thin hustler with unrecognizable eyes, broken without them.

Butters lived in a third floor apartment with a great view, but Stan didn't envy him. He was like a little prince alone in a tower, with only Daisy for company. They tried to invite him out to group functions, and Stan had even attempted to include him in the weekly brunches, but Butters didn't like to leave the apartment if he didn't have to. Kyle had a theory that he was afraid Kenny might show up while he was out, even though Kenny didn't know his address and still sent cash for Butters and Daisy to Stan's house.

"Hey, fellas!" Butters said when he pulled open the door. He turned to the kids, who were playing on the floor, sitting on the quilt that Kenny's mother had made for Daisy. "Look who's here!" Butters said, though Ellie was already looking, beaming at them.

"Daddy's here!" she said, as if that had been a quiz question that needed answering. Stan wasn't sure which of them she was referring to, but it didn't really matter, because they both knelt down to hug her together when she came to them with her arms stretched out. Stan was the one who lifted her up and kissed her cheek, noting that she smelled like non-organic peanut butter.

"Were you a good girl for Butters today?" Kyle asked, smoothing her hair. "Where's her barrette?" he asked before she could answer.

"Oh, I took it out when they had their nap," Butters said. "It's in Daisy's room, I'll get it."

"My room," Daisy said, as if to confirm this. Stan put Ellie down and sat on the quilt with them. Daisy was ridiculously adorable, and seeing her always sort of broke Stan's heart, because she looked more like Kenny every day. She had some light freckles scattered across her nose now, like he did. Stan looked up and shook his head when he saw Kyle poking around in the kitchen.

"See?" Ellie said, showing Stan a My Little Pony with purple skin and dark blue hair.

"Who's that?" Stan asked.

"Horsie," Ellie said, and she galloped it across the quilt in demonstration. Kyle managed to discreetly slip back into the living room area when Butters returned with the barrette.

"I hope you haven't been running that all day," Kyle said, nodding to the gas fireplace. It was lit, flickering behind glass doors on the other side of the room, its elegance undercut by the baby proof lock on the door handles.

"Oh, no," Butters said. "I just turn it on when it starts to get a little dark. Makes the place feel more cozy."

"Not to be a bitch," Kyle said. It was a frequent refrain during pick up time. "But I'd rather you waited until Ellie left. That carbon monoxide makes me nervous."

"Kyle, I'm sure it vents properly," Stan said.

"It does," Butters said. He seemed miffed, and though this made Stan nervous, because he didn't want to lose this childcare arrangement, he was always a little proud of Butters when he stood up for himself. "I wouldn't run that thing around Daisy if it weren't safe."

"I know, of course," Kyle said, backtracking. "I'm just - it would be my preference if you waited."

"It's no big deal," Butters said with a shrug, sitting down beside Stan. "I can wait until she's gone."

"Gone, gone," Ellie said, tapping the pony's hooves against the quilt.

"Gone," Daisy added. They could be like a frog chorus sometimes. They were still too young to play together cooperatively, but they were content to do so side by side, stopping to watch what the other was doing at moments.

"Did she nap for a long time?" Kyle asked, kneeling down to join everyone on the floor.

"Just a little over an hour," Butters said. "Like you asked," he added, giving Stan a pointed look. Stan smiled sheepishly.

"What are you guys doing for dinner tonight?" Stan asked, hoping to lighten the mood. He also felt like it was his responsibility to ask, because while Daisy was plump-cheeked and well-fed, Butters was so skinny that he looked slightly unhealthy.

"Daisy is having mashed carrots and chicken," Butters said. "I'll probably just heat up a Lean Cuisine."

"Why don't you just eat carrots and chicken, too?" Stan asked.

"Why don't you eat an effing cheeseburger and fries?" Kyle asked. "I would, if I could get away with it like you."

"Oh, I don't know," Butters said. He touched his knuckles together lightly. "I like Lean Cuisine. I've got spinach lasagna, my favorite."

"He's so dull!" Kyle said when they walking down the stairs to the car. Ellie was buttoned into her little coat, bundled in Kyle's arms as the sun disappeared and the temperature dropped. "I honestly can't even imagine him with Kenny. He'd go crazy with boredom."

"I think Kenny brought out his wilder side," Stan said. He wished Kyle would keep his voice down, though they were out of earshot of Butters' apartment by then.

"Well, I know I should be nicer to him," Kyle said, as if Stan had reprimanded him. "But he just infuriates me. Lean Cuisine. Jesus Christ."

"Car," Ellie said, pointing across the parking lot at Kyle's old Volvo.

"That's right," Kyle said. "That's our car. What do you think of Butters, El?" Kyle asks. "Is he dull?"

"Butters?" Ellie said.

"Yeah, that emaciated guy with the blond hair," Kyle said, tipping his head back toward the apartment building.

"Don't call him emaciated," Stan said, though it didn't really matter, and it was almost true. "Daisy's Daddy," Stan said to Ellie. "He's our friend, right?"

"Mmm," Ellie said. "Horsie?" she said, pointing back toward Butters' apartment.

"That's Daisy's toy," Kyle explained. "It'll be there when you go to auntie Butters' house tomorrow."

"Dude, if you keep calling him that she's going to start repeating it."

"I doubt Butters would care."

"We can't push him around like we used to," Stan said.

"I know you think I'm just being a jerk," Kyle said. "But I'm making a man out of him. He gets a little more fed up with me every day."

"Great," Stan said. "So what happens when he tells you not to come back?"

"Oh, he'd get over it," Kyle said. "He'd miss us too much. And there's always my mom's house in the meantime."

"Mommy?" Ellie said, looking at Kyle questioningly.

"Grandma's house," Kyle said. "Grandma is my mommy. Who's your mommy?"

"Mhm, you!" she said, pointing at Kyle, and he kissed her forehead.

"That's right," he said as Stan opened the back door of the car so they could put her in her car seat. "You might have two daddies, but you only have _one_ Mommy."

"Hey," Stan said, straightening.

"No offense," Kyle said. "Tell Daddy you love him," he said, whispering this loud enough for Stan to hear. "He's feeling insecure."

"Daddy love him," Ellie said, reaching for Stan. He took her from Kyle and gave her a kiss before buckling her into her car seat.

"I love you, too," he said, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said, and her authoritative response made Stan's eyes well up a little, because she was so much like Kyle.

Snow flurries began to fall as they drove home, and they listened to showtunes on Radio Disney, which was the satellite station that almost always had on when Ellie was in the car. Stan had gotten the satellite radio for Kyle as a birthday gift the year before, to make his commute more bearable. Kyle's mother had of course remarked that they would never have a place of their own if they spent what little money they had on such frivolous things, but Stan didn't think it was frivolous at all, since Kyle had to spend so much time in the car.

Stan's parents were both home when they arrived, and Sharon was reheating leftover lasagna. Randy scooped Ellie out of Kyle's arms when they passed him on the way into the kitchen, and he blew against her stomach, something that always made her laugh and used to occasionally make her spit up into his hair.

"How's Butters?" Sharon asked as Stan got himself a beer.

"He's eating lasagna tonight, too," Kyle said. "The frozen kind that only has a hundred calories."

"Well," Sharon said, frowning. "He shouldn't be dieting."

"That's what I said," Kyle said. He was eying Randy as he played with Ellie, lifting her up and then blowing on her stomach again. "But God forbid he ever listen to me. I don't believe him when he says he only lets her nap for an hour. She's been very hard to put down lately."

"Are you hard to put down?" Randy asked, holding her up. "Huh?" She was still giggling madly.

"I've talked to Linda about it," Sharon said. "She's trying to get him to take some classes or something. He won't leave Daisy alone with anyone."

"He's getting pretty weird," Stan admitted.

"His kid's gonna turn out weird if he's not careful," Randy said.

"We wouldn't let that happen," Kyle said, and he took Ellie from Randy. "You know, it's always sort of taken a village with Butters. I should get Tweek to come and visit him, too, with Missy, but after that whole - thing. I don't know."

"What whole thing?" Sharon asked.

"Stan tried to set Tweek and Butters up last year. Like, as a couple. Before Craig came back."

"Okay - you were totally on board with the idea at the time," Stan said, annoyed. He accepted a plate of lasagna from his mother and sat down with his beer.

"Are Craig and Tweek doing okay?" Sharon asked when she joined Stan at the table.

"Seems like it," Stan said. "Craig sometimes gives us the idea that they're not together, like, romantically. I guess they still technically live with their parents, but they're always together unless Craig is at brunch. Me and Wendy have been trying to figure it out without asking outright."

"Are they in school?" Sharon asked.

"No," Kyle said. He had settled Ellie into her high chair and was putting her dinner together on her fish plate, which was her favorite of their collection of little plastic trays with shallow compartments. "Tweek works at the coffee shop and Craig has an Etsy store. I don't know what their plans are. I don't think they know, either."

"What's an Etsy store?" Randy asked.

"It's how he sells his baby clothes online," Stan said. "He claims that he sells some of that stuff for sixty bucks."

"I certainly don't pay that," Kyle said, scoffing. "But the clothes are cute." He fastened a bib over Ellie's dress as he said so, and she whined. "Hush," Kyle said. "You're not going bib-less for marinara sauce." He fed her small spoonfuls of lasagna and some applesauce. She was not a picky eater, which was a relief. Artemis and Daisy both were, and apparently it was a battle to get them to eat at times. Kinglet, like Ellie, would eat almost anything. The two of them tended to gravitate together during play dates, something that alarmed Kyle. Stan thought it was cute. Kinglet was actually one of the quieter kids, but Kyle said this didn't mean that she was sweet, necessarily. He tended to suspect that she was plotting.

After dinner, Stan gave Ellie her bath while Kyle started on his homework. Sharon came in with a fresh pair of pajamas while Stan was drying her off.

"Thanks," he said, accepting them. "Say thank you to grandma," Stan said.

"You ma," Ellie mumbled, petulantly. Stan thought Butters was telling the truth about the short nap, because she seemed sleepy.

"I'm still not used to that," Sharon said, sitting on the bathroom floor while Stan dressed Ellie for bed. "Do I look like a grandma?" she asked, poking Ellie's stomach.

"Water?" Ellie said, and she pointed to the bath, which was draining loudly. The sound always made her sort of nervous.

"Water's going bye-bye," Stan said. "You totally look younger than Kyle's mom," he said to Sharon, and she laughed.

"I should grow my hair longer," she said. "Did you see Shelly's new Facebook pictures?"

"I only really look at Kyle's Facebook."

"She cut her hair short!" Sharon said. "I never would have thought. She always hated my short hair as a kid. She took it personally for some reason."

"She's good at doing that," Stan said. He was currently in an argument with his sister because he had to turn down her invitation to come visit her and her fiancé in Portland during the summer. There was no way they could afford the airfare, and Stan's weekends off meant that he got no paid vacation time. Shelly consistently refused to accept the reality of Stan's life. She was working on her MA in urban planning, paying as she went by teaching undergraduate history courses. Stan could easily picture her as a teacher. She would be particularly fearsome with short hair.

Ellie was in a whiny mood as she settled into bed with Stan and a book about a little boy in a yarmulke that was one of her favorites. It was a gift from Sheila. Kyle was across the room at the computer, typing furiously.

"Daddy," Ellie said, writhing under Stan's arm, because if they were both in the room and one of them wasn't paying attention to her, she was in agony.

"Coming, bubbeh," Kyle said. "Just let me finish my thought."

"Mommy," she tried, starting to cry. Kyle sighed and hit save.

"You could work in the nursery," Stan said, a little irritated that he hadn't.

"No, it's fine," Kyle said. "What are you reading?" he asked as he settled into bed with them. He was dressed for it, in sweatpants and a thermal shirt. "Ah," he said when he saw the book they were looking at. "Yossi, I should have known." He was sort of smug about the fact that she loved this book, Stan thought.

Ellie fell asleep before Yossi could reach the bakery and learn about why challah was round on Rosh Hashanah. She was tucked against Stan's side with her hand on his side, conked out. Stan stopped reading and closed the book when he realized she'd drifted off, and Kyle smiled over at him.

"She still likes your voice better," he said, whispering.

"I don't know," Stan said. "Maybe." He handed the book to Kyle, who laid it on top of a stack of them that lived on the bedside table. They both watched Ellie sleeping for a little while, her eyelashes trembling softly against her cheeks. "I don't want to go to work," Stan whispered, though he knew it was useless and possibly even damaging to complain about it. Kyle leaned down to sigh into Ellie's hair, which was tangled from being dried with a towel.

"I know," he said. "No word about the assistant manager guy getting fired?"

"No," Stan said. The general manager of the pharmacy was Trevor, and he got along well with Stan, even came out to the steakhouse where he played one Saturday and stayed for his whole set. He'd mentioned something about the assistant manager who worked during the day missing work a lot because an alleged family illness that Trevor was beginning to suspect wasn't legit. Like Stan, Trevor avoided confrontation with subordinates whenever possible, so he hadn't brought it up with the guy yet, just offered Stan his day shifts if he could swing them for extra money, but there was no way it would work. Forty hours felt nearly impossible most weeks.

Kyle fetched his Sociology notes and studied them while Stan rested his head beside Ellie's on the pillow, watching the bedside clock until he couldn't avoid getting ready for work any longer. The problem was that he always felt like he'd just left that stuffy little office with the mirrored windows. He extracted himself from Ellie's grip carefully, and she only whined a little before rolling over to clutch at Kyle.

"So glad it's Friday," Kyle said, whispering while Stan slid into his khakis, which smelled like work: medicated ointments and discounted Easter candy.

"Me too," Stan said. "I'm gonna work on that song tonight. About going through something instead of crashing into it."

"Credit me when you play it at MacKenzie's," Kyle said.

"Someday we'll have a real date," Stan said when he walked to the bed to kiss Kyle goodbye. "Without your homework and my tip jar."

"I like our MacKenzie's dates," Kyle said. "Those are good steaks!"

"Love you," Stan said, kissing him again.

"Mhmm, yeah," Kyle said, flopping back onto the pillows. "Love you, too. My poor baby," he said, referring to Stan, stroking his cheek. "Is this romantic?" he asked when Stan lingered, wanting to kiss him again.

"What?" Stan asked.

"How one of us is always waiting in bed for the other."

"Yeah, but I'm sick of it," Stan said, and Kyle grinned.

"Me too," he said. "Get that day job. Steal it."

"I'll see what I can do."

Stan knew he didn't have much hope unless the other assistant manager stopped showing up altogether, and the guy seemed to have some sort of system down. He knew just how much Trevor would put up with without pushing him. It was also possible that he really did have a family member who was ill and who needed him, in which case Stan felt terrible for wanting his job, but he still wanted it. He felt imprisoned by the nighttime, the lonely drive along empty streets and the cold illumination of the lights that buzzed overhead in the store. A day shift would be more lively, and he would be able to drift off like Ellie in the middle of a story and stay there in bed with her and Kyle until morning. He wasn't sure he'd trust some new guy to take proper care of the night cashier, though. She was fifteen minutes late, but Stan didn't mind manning the register for a bit.

"Sorry," she said when she arrived. "My car _sucks_."

"I've been there," Stan said. "Don't worry about it." He took a ginger ale from the fridge by the register and saluted her before heading up to his office.

The first two hours of his shift were usually the busiest, so he didn't try to get much done, just fucked around on the internet until something downstairs needed his attention. At one o'clock in the morning he had his dinner, a roast beef sandwich and chips, which was what Kyle took to campus for his lunches. His breaks were much more relaxing now that he could sit in front of the computer in his office, and he browsed his usual sites, guiltlessly mixing in some porn, because Trevor left his browser history intact and he wasn't the type of guy to fault someone for doing the same thing he did. Stan followed his meal with some coffee to kick start his energy, and he was preparing to get started on his songwriting when a guy walked into the store downstairs. He was their first customer in over an hour, a skinny guy in a gray hoodie, and he left his hood pulled up after entering the store. Stan was immediately on alert and out of his chair. Trevor kept a shotgun in a cabinet in the office, but Stan had never gone so far as taking it downstairs with him, so he wasn't sure how much good it would be in an emergency.

The guy in the hoodie moved quickly toward the back, and Stan almost broke into a run in his effort to catch up with him, because there was something nervous and sinister about his gait. Stan stopped short of apprehending him once when he reached the counter, because he hadn't done anything yet. He heard him ask Liz for cigarettes, which were kept behind the counter. Something about the guy's voice made chills crawl up Stan's spine. He felt like his skull would crack in two when he realized why.

"Kenny?" Stan said, and the guy turned around like he'd just been fired on. It was Kenny, his face shadowed by the hood. He looked ready for a fight, but only for a moment.

"I didn't see your car," Kenny said. He pushed his hood back, and Stan was relieved to see that he looked almost bizarrely healthy, his cheeks full and shaved cleanly, eyes bright and clear. Anger quickly replaced relief.

"We park out back," Stan said, dumbfounded. He felt like he was dreaming. Liz seemed vaguely alarmed, holding Kenny's cigarettes. "It's company policy."

"Oh." Kenny gave him a once-over, nodding slowly. "So. Yeah."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Stan asked. "How long have you been home?"

"Couple of hours." Kenny was muttering, avoiding Stan's eyes. "I just sort of woke up here."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Can I pay for these?" Kenny asked, his voice sharpening, as if he had any right to be angry with Stan for looking at him this way. "We'll talk, fine. Let me buy my smokes."

Stan was still reeling when they walked outside to stand in front of the store. Kenny had smoked weed since puberty, but Stan hadn't seen him with a cigarette since their desperate attempt to try them after the Butt Out assembly. He stared openly as Kenny lit up. He'd bought the lighter inside, too, as if this was a new habit he was taking up. It was cold outside, and Stan could see his breath. He was almost panting, raw with shock.

"Where have you been?" Stan asked after allowing Kenny to take a few drags. He was staring into space in a way that made Stan want to grab him, push him against the brick wall of the pharmacy and ask him who the hell he thought he was. Semis trundled by out on the highway, and Stan felt the hairs on the backs of his neck stand up when Kenny met his eyes. He felt like he was looking at a ghost, though Kenny's cheeks were glowing pink from the cold, his hair clean and lustrous like he'd come from the fucking salon.

"I've been around," Kenny said, and Stan twitched with the urge to hit him.

"In South Park?"

"Sometimes. Not usually. Not for long."

"You asshole, Kenny!" Stan wanted to at least shove him, but he was afraid his hands might pass right through. Beneath the stink of the cigarette there was something off about the smell of him, and it made Stan think of the way Ellie had smelled as an infant, which was unsettling. "You fucking asshole."

"I know," Kenny said. "I am that thing."

"Don't just stand there acting stoic! You owe me a fucking explanation!"

Kenny laughed, and then Stan did shove him. His hands didn't go through. Kenny was solid, and he didn't look happy, though he was smiling.

"I know what it feels like to be owed an explanation," Kenny said. "So, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you, you're sorry. Don't say sorry to me. How about Butters? How about your daughter? Jesus Christ! I never thought - you seemed like you _wanted_ the baby."

"I did," Kenny said. "I do. Butters named her Daisy, right? He didn't change it?"

"Yes, fucker. That's her name. God!"

"Good," Kenny said. He watched a truck with a giant ear of corn painted on the side pass out on the highway. "I would have felt like a chump if I'd been writing the wrong name on the letters all this time."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Stan said, his distress and disbelief beginning to taste like bile at the back of his throat. "Who are you, even?"

"That was the point," Kenny said, gesturing to Stan with the cigarette. "I was finally going to find out, once and for all. Not who so much as what, I guess."

"Are you high?" Stan said, though he seemed completely sober, eerily but coherently resigned. "You're not making any sense. I know why you left, because of what happened with Butters' dad. I know he offered not to press charges."

"That was why I left," Kenny said. "And I thought while I was gone I might do some research."

"Research?"

"It won't make sense to you," Kenny said, waving his cigarette through the air. "Or to Butters, or my mom, or anyone. You don't remember."

"Remember what?"

"Oh, fuck," Kenny said, muttering. "I really don't want to get into this again. I should have just told you I went on a coke binge and then found God and came back. That's what I was going to say."

"Where'd you get all that money?" Stan asked, though he was still afraid of the answer.

"I stole things and sold them," Kenny said. "To collectors."

"What things?"

"Mystical artifacts."

"Oh, fuck you!"

"See," Kenny said. He dragged on the cigarette. "I've become a pointless conversation. I guess if there was anything out there to discover, that was it: Kenny McCormick does not bear discussion. It's a snake eating its own tail."

"I'm gonna kick your fucking ass if you don't stop talking to me in metaphors," Stan said. "Fine, don't tell me where you got the money. Tell me how you have the goddamn nerve to come back here and buy cigarettes instead of going to see Butters and your kid."

"First answer me one thing," Kenny said. "It was you who told everyone that Henrietta put a magic spell on the pregnant boys, right? That she was responsible for some kind of witchcraft? That's why we all have kids now, a witch?"

"It seems stupid now, but yeah," Stan said. "At least - I saw some things, at her house, that I couldn't explain. And I showed you guys my phone, how it melted like that. And the doctors could never explain it scientifically."

"Well," Kenny said. "So why is it so hard to believe that your friend Kenny, as a lifelong possessor of a certain unexplainable magical power, was able to obtain certain dark objects that certain occult practitioners paid me a lot of money for?"

"Fuck you, that's why," Stan said. Kenny laughed and threw his cigarette down. "Don't hide behind South Park crap. Weird shit happens here - whatever, I know. But you weren't here. And you know what, that's not even my real problem. Maybe you felt like you had to stay away or get put in jail. I get that. So why the fuck wouldn't you at least write to him? You know we could have shown him your letters without his dad finding out that you were still in contact. You didn't even _try_."

"I was waiting to find the right words," Kenny said. "You're a lyricist. You know how it is. I just kept waiting until I realized I'd waited too long. I thought - I thought the money would be enough, and it took up a lot of energy, okay, getting it-"

"Were you a whore?" Stan asked, tired of being careful with him. "Just tell me."

"No, Stanley, I wasn't a whore. Was that Kyle's theory?"

"No, it was my worst fear." Stan swallowed heavily, and when Kenny's eyes changed Stan saw that there was still so much good in him. It made no sense. "Look," Stan said. "Whatever. I want to get mad at you, and I am mad. But fuck it, man. Go to Butters. He's so alone, you've got no idea."

"His parents cut him off?" Kenny asked, his gaze hardening again.

"They didn't," Stan said. "He finally talked to them. I've heard - some of what he told them, I think. He's living in an apartment, paying for it with the money you send, and he gets along pretty well with them now, I guess because they want to have access to Daisy. And me and Kyle see him five times a week. He takes care of Ellie for us during the weekdays."

"He does?" There was light in Kenny's eyes again when he heard this. He looked out at the highway. "Oh," he said. "Butters, Jesus. I knew he'd be better off without me around."

"But he's not, dumb ass! Of course he's not, and never mind if he was - what about Daisy? You think she's better off without her father?"

"I wanted to come back," Kenny said. "But the money was so good, five times what I was making when I worked at the soap factory and the gas station, sometimes ten times that. Did he tell you I sent him ten thousand bucks one month? One month, Stan! And I kept getting stuck, sometimes literally, in caves and stuff. I wasn't always entirely, you know. Here."

"Here?"

"In the physical world," Kenny said, holding his hands out, palms down, as if to indicate the ground beneath their feet.

"Did you go crazy?" Stan asked. He seemed lucid, more so than he had when he'd been working eighteen hours a week. "And what's with your hair?"

"My hair?" Kenny touched it. "Now you're complaining about my hair, too?"

"I'm not - it's just. You look polished or something. It's freaking me out."

"Polished," Kenny said. He brushed some invisible dander from the front of his shirt. "Yeah, I never thought of it that way. Look, the point is, I know Butters doesn't want to see me. I'm just glad to hear he used the money to get his own place. That's awesome."

"Don't you want to see Daisy?" Stan asked, his voice pinching a little. He was exhausted by this conversation, half expecting the sun to start rising out over the highway, because he felt he'd been at this for hours.

"I don't even know her," Kenny said.

"But don't you want to?"

"She'd just think I was some weird guy." Kenny tapped out another cigarette and put it behind his ear. "I'm not human, dude. I'm not fit to circulate among good people. You saw what happened - chaos! You remember how I was as a kid, all aloof and shit? That's what works. Being with Butters was the first time I'd really tried to participate in someone else's life, and it was a disaster. You were there in the hospital that day, you saw what happened. I'm better as a wealthy benefactor who stays the fuck out of it."

"You're not leaving South Park without seeing them," Stan said. "I won't let you."

"Stan," Kenny said. He smiled strangely, stepping closer to him. "How are you going to stop me? I'm an ifrit, you fuck. I'm not invincible, but I am unstoppable. How are you going to keep me in South Park, little man? With your register keys and your Walgreens polo?"

"What happened to you?" Stan asked, backing away from him.

"Enlightenment, probably," Kenny said. "It's not always as delightful as you'd think."

"Enlightenment," Stan said, sickened.

"I do love her," Kenny said. "Daisy. My girl. And I want her to go to college, you know, I can give her so much this way. She won't just be the daughter of some soap factory line worker. I've seen what I can do now, Stan, and it's fucking magnificent. The only problem is that I end up back here every time I regenerate."

"You don't know what it's like," Stan said. He was backing toward the front door of the store, defeated. "When they look at you, your kid - everything you do is magnificent to them. But no, great. Go be a mystical imp or whatever the fuck you think you're talking about. Keep the cash coming. That's more important, Kenny, sure. Fuck you if you think I'm stupid enough to think you really believe that. Coward."

Stan turned his back, expecting Kenny to rush him or at least have some kind of rebuttal, but when he looked over his shoulder Kenny was walking across the parking lot, disappearing into the dark. He had his hood pulled up again, hands stuffed in his pockets. Apparently he had no car.

The first thing Stan did when he got back to his office was text Wendy to see if she was awake. He knew that Kyle wasn't, and didn't want to startle him and Ellie by calling in the middle of the night. He got no answer from Wendy, and tried Craig next, not expecting the response that came in just a few minutes.

_I am making a rush order tutu dress that has to ship tomorrow so tell me wtf you mean by 'code red' and then leave me to my misery_

_Kenny's back_, Stan sent. His phone rang ten seconds later.

"What," Craig said when Stan picked up.

"I just saw him," Stan said, still short of breath, antsy with rage and confusion. "He showed up at the fucking store to buy cigarettes. He doesn't even _smoke_. He was like some other guy, totally fucked up."

"Oh, Jesus," Craig said, and he sounded sincerely sad. "Did he have any teeth left?"

"Teeth - no, he looked _great_, that was the weirdest thing. Like, waxy with newness."

"Waxy with newness?"

"Shut up, dude, this is usually my song writing time."

"Well, then I feel sorry for your captive steakhouse audiences. Marsh, calm yourself, Christ. You sound like you're hyperventilating."

"It was just so fucking strange! He was talking about magical artifacts."

"Right, he's on drugs. We all figured as much."

"That's the thing, though, he was totally lucid, you could see it in his eyes. He sounded - I don't even know. Like he'd been brainwashed."

"You think he joined a cult?" Craig asked. Stan could hear the whir of the sewing machine in the background, and Craig sounded like he had a few pins in his mouth.

"Maybe," Stan said.

"It could be one of those juice-drinking cults," Craig said. "Where they do toxin flushes all the time. That might account for his waxen newness."

"Maybe," Stan said again, beginning to come down from his shock. It was like a fever breaking, and he felt suddenly cold.

"What does Kyle have to say?" Craig asked.

"He's not here," Stan said. "He's asleep."

"Oh, right. Your whole yin and yang arrangement. God, you two. So what, now he's just back? Waxy and addicted to tobacco?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "He claims he doesn't want to see Butters or Daisy, that he's better off sending money from Neverland or what the fuck ever, but I think he's full of shit. He wouldn't have come here, to _my_ store, to buy cigarettes if he didn't want to be caught. Whether he saw my car out front or not."

"So you're saying you let him get away again?"

"What was I supposed to do? He fucking threatened me with his magic powers, I think. God, shit, what the fuck, Craig?"

"Don't look at me," Craig said. "When I was away, all I thought about was coming back. I just didn't want to look like a fool. Maybe that's why he stayed away. But he's back now, and Butters is a moron, so he'll forgive him if he brings flowers or whatever."

"I don't think he's bringing flowers," Stan said. "Fuck, no, I don't know what the hell is happening. I wish I could have a drink."

"Just take a beer off the shelf," Craig said.

"No," Stan said, firmly, to himself more than Craig. He'd considered it before, but there were cameras in the store, and he didn't want to let himself down like that anyway. "Alright, well, I'll let you get back to your dress. Don't tell anyone about this."

"I'm going to wake Tweek up and tell him immediately," Craig said. "But other than that, fine."

"So Tweek is there?" Stan said.

"He's upstairs with Artie."

"Are you guys together?" Stan asked, so rattled by Kenny that he didn't care much about being sensitive to Craig's feelings. "Like, fucking?"

"That's a long story," Craig said.

"Dude, c'mon. You're the first person I told about Kenny."

"Why do you care, anyway?" Craig asked. "So you can provide Kyle with new gossip?"

"I'm just curious," Stan said. "Since you're my friend now, you know. For real."

Craig was silent for a moment, and the sewing machine was, too. Stan imagined him in the dark of his parents' basement, tulle everywhere, jittery with coffee.

"We switched," Craig said.

"Huh?"

"Well. Things were messed up for a while after I came back, so we switched. It fixed things somehow. Don't ask me. Ugh, whatever, like you wouldn't take it up the ass if Kyle offered."

"Um," Stan said, resisting the urge to be annoyed by that comment. "Yeah, I guess I would. Well. Glad you guys worked things out."

"We're not married," Craig said. "We're just having sex and raising a child together. It's complicated. Christ, how did you get me talking about this? I have to go!"

"Me too! Alright, bye. Thanks."

"Thanks?"

"I don't know!" Stan said, wishing Kyle was with him. "Just don't tell Butters yet. Until I figure out - how."

"I don't see Butters socially," Craig said. "Or otherwise, if I can help it, since he apparently tried to steal my estranged boyfriend while I was away."

"That was more me and Kyle than Tweek and Butters."

"Oh, I assumed as much. It still enrages me. Goodbye, Marsh!"

"Bye," Stan said, though Craig had hung up by the time he got the word out.

The rest of Stan's shift passed with excruciating slowness, and he couldn't even concentrate enough to slack off. He Googled Kenny's name, and that word he'd said, _ifrit_. It was some kind of huge winged creature that belched fire. "Most often depicted as wicked," they could apparently marry humans, though they "usually married each other." Stan felt insane by the time Trevor showed up to relieve him.

"You playing tonight?" Trevor asked as Stan clocked out on the computer.

"Oh - yeah." Stan couldn't imagine being able to play with everything he had on his mind, but the MacKenzie's gig was important to him, though not particularly profitable, and he'd never missed a booking.

"Well, I wish you luck," Trevor said. He had a bacon, egg and something from McDonalds that smelled foul. It was not unusual for him to have food stuck in his mustache, but Stan found this more charming than disgusting. Trevor reminded him a little of Randy.

"Find anything out about Davis?" Stan asked. "If - if he's going to need to go on extended medical leave or something?"

"We don't offer that," Trevor said. "And nope. If he calls in today I might have my step-son drive over to his house and see if he can find out what's up. He wants to be a private detective. My step-son."

"Cool," Stan said. He wondered if that was one of those things you could just decide to be, and thought of Cartman's childhood stint as a bounty hunter. "Um, see ya Monday."

Stan searched the streets for Kenny as he drove home, and remembered doing the same thing after Karen had told him Kenny had gone. It had been eerie to see him, as if he really had come back from another world. Everything outside of South Park was starting to feel that way. When Stan drove to Colorado Springs for his Saturday night gigs he always felt jumpy, like he'd forgotten his guitar or something equally important. Kyle felt this, too, and eventually they'd determined that they just didn't feel comfortable being that far away from Ellie. It usually passed after they arrived at the restaurant. It was mostly the feeling of leaving South Park behind that was unnerving, while their baby was still there. Stan was sure that if Kenny gave himself even half a day to bond with Daisy he would know that feeling, too. Family had been important to him, once. Stan had felt like part of the South Park family that Kenny valued, but now he didn't know where the hell he stood. Kenny had called him _little man_. He'd made fun of Stan's polo shirt, the company logo stitched over the front pocket. That wasn't Kenny. That was somebody he didn't know, the important bits scraped away until he was clean and cold. Stan shivered in the driver's seat, thinking of it that way. Kenny had seemed purged of something, though not carefree or indifferent.

Stan had never been happier to be home, and he was glad that it was a Saturday morning, so that he wouldn't have to spend time making pleasantries with his parents before jogging up to the bedroom. Ellie was awake, and she sat up as soon as Stan opened the door, waving at him. Kyle shifted and sighed, still curled in a crescent shape around her. Ellie held a finger to her mouth, and Stan did, too.

"Thank God I don't have class today," Kyle said when Stan climbed into bed behind him, hugging him tight. He wrapped his arm around Ellie's back, and she put her head on Kyle's shoulder, smiling at Stan in a way that tore him in half.

"Baby," Stan said, cupping her face, and Kyle rolled toward him when he heard his voice crack.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Stan?"

"Nothing," Stan said. He hadn't cried in front of Ellie since she was born, and he didn't want to. "Kenny."

"What happened?" Kyle asked, sitting up, wide awake in a moment. He picked Ellie up and hugged her to his chest as if to protect her from the news, or maybe he was protecting himself. She made a wordless questioning sound, confused.

"He's okay," Stan said. "He's just – here, he's here. In town. I saw him."

"What - when? At work?"

Stan told Kyle everything that he'd told Craig, and Kyle and Ellie both listened without interrupting. Ellie was sucking on the ends of her fingers, something she did when she was nervous. Kyle kept removing them from her mouth, his eyes still on Stan, and she kept reinserting them.

"So what do we do?" Stan asked. "Do we tell Butters? I don't want to break his heart all over again if Kenny's just going to disappear. He might have left already."

"I just don't understand," Kyle said.

"Well, yeah. Me either, dude."

"Why is he back?" Kyle asked. "Is this some kind of act, talking about leaving again? Does he want us to beg him to stay?" Kyle scoffed.

"I don't know," Stan said. "It's okay, baby," he said, leaning down to kiss Ellie, because she still looked worried. "I'm just so glad we're both off today," Stan said to Kyle. "Except, shit, I've got that brunch thing later."

"Well, to hell with the brunch," Kyle said, because he still resented it.

"Yeah," Stan said, though he wanted Wendy's input. She still hadn't answered his 'code red' text; she and Cartman usually slept late on Saturdays.

"So what do we do?" Kyle asked. "I don't feel comfortable telling Butters, but then it seems like a lie if we don't."

"Exactly," Stan said.

"Butters?" Ellie said, with some measure of dread. Stan wondered if she had some sense that it was a day that she was supposed to spend with the two of them, since Kyle wasn't getting her dressed to go to Butters' apartment.

"We might see him later," Kyle said to her. "But we'd all go together, okay? Are you hungry?"

The sun was still rising as they took her downstairs for breakfast, and Stan could hear his mother moving around upstairs, getting ready for her Saturday morning yoga class. Randy usually slept until nine, then parked on the sofa with his coffee and watched TV. The kitchen was still empty for the time being, and Stan was glad. He liked to pretend sometimes that the house was his and Kyle's, and quiet breakfasts with Ellie were a good opportunity to do so. Ellie ate Cheerios while Stan made french toast for himself and Kyle.

"I shouldn't be eating this," Kyle said as he doused his plate with syrup. "But it's perfect. I need comfort food. This is - I'm pretty thrown."

"Me too," Stan said. "I just wish I could have fought with him on some kind of rational level." He debated whether or not to mention the next part. "He called himself an ifrit."

"A what?" Kyle said.

"A-what?" Ellie mimicked, grinning.

"A genie, or something," Stan said. "They're from, like. The Arabian Nights."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Uck'say," Ellie said, and Kyle blew his breath out.

"And you're _sure_ he wasn't high?"

"Well, of course I'm not sure. I've just seen Kenny when he's high, and that wasn't high Kenny. He seemed - grave."

"I wish I had been there," Kyle said. "I'm sure you went easy on him."

"I did not! What was I supposed to do, pick up where things left off and start throwing punches? I called him an a-s-s hole."

"Hole," Ellie said, and she threw a Cheerio onto the table.

"Hey," Kyle said, fetching it. "No throwing food." He ate the Cheerio and turned to Stan. "I say we wait until tomorrow morning to see what happens," he said. "You've got your brunch, and we've got MacKenzie's later. It'll give us time to think. Just don't spread the word around too widely."

"What does that mean?" Stan asked.

"It means don't tell Wendy!" Kyle said, so worked up that Ellie slapped the tray of her high chair with both hands to help him emphasize his point. "Because she'll tell Cartman, and he'll make it his business to get in the middle of things and say some insensitive garbage to Butters."

"I could ask her not to tell Cartman."

"Oh, right. Her word's about as good as his, as far as I'm concerned. Don't do it, Stan!"

"Well, Craig will tell her if I don't."

"Craig? How does he know?"

"How?" Ellie asked, loudly. Question words were by far her favorites.

"I texted him," Stan said.

"When?"

"Uh."

"You told Craig before me? That's. I can't even fathom that."

"I knew you were asleep!" Stan said. "What, you wanted me to wake you and Ellie up in the middle of the night? Craig is nocturnal. He's basically a bat."

That made Kyle laugh, which was thrilling, and Ellie laughed too. She made a meowing sound.

"That's a cat," Kyle said. "Cats go 'meow!' Bats go, like. Ksssh!" Ellie cracked up at Kyle's bat hiss, and he cut a particularly gooey piece of french toast for her. "I just can't believe you're, like, _friends_ with Craig," he said.

"Well, I was one short without Kenny," Stan said. He liked having a get-together that didn't include Kyle, because it was his time to discuss recent Kyle developments, while Wendy and Craig talked about Cartman and Tweek. Kyle knew this, of course, and hated it, but he had his own members only group, a semi-regular poker game with Cartman, Token and Bebe that basically took place anytime the others could convince Token and Bebe to come to South Park on the same night. Bebe was living in Denver, waiting tables to save up for college courses, and she was the second best poker player in the group. Kyle was the best, which Stan appreciated, because they played with real money and Kyle often brought home a fair amount of Token's.

Sharon left for her yoga class at eight, and Stan decided not to mention Kenny to her yet, since she was friends with his mother in some capacity. He moved to the couch with Ellie and put on some cartoons while Kyle cleaned up the french toast mess. Saturday morning was Ellie's only real TV time, though Stan suspected Butters probably let her and Daisy watch some during the week. Randy appeared at the usual time, complained that they hadn't saved him any french toast, and joined Stan and Ellie on the couch after he'd fetched his coffee. Kyle came in when he'd finished the dishes, and Stan held out an arm so that he would slip under it. Ellie was slumped against his other side, staring at the TV, mesmerized.

"Are you even going to be hungry for brunch?" Kyle asked when he was cuddled against Stan's chest. "After all that french toast?"

"Sure," Stan said. "I'm not going until noon."

Kyle was quiet for a moment, picking at fuzz balls on Stan's sweater. "Will you bring me back a croissant?" he asked. "You're going to Rathburn's, right?"

"Yep, and yeah, sure."

"One of the cheese ones," Kyle said, leaning down to rub his cheek against Stan's sweater again. "And get a cookie for Ellie."

"Cookie?" she said, turning from the TV.

"I always get her a cookie," Stan said. He refrained from mentioning that he also always got Kyle a croissant, unless his order for the afternoon was something else.

"Hey, can you bring me a chicken salad sandwich?" Randy asked. "We're out of roast beef."

"Sure," Stan said. He liked it when he had the opportunity to buy anything for his parents, especially food, since he knew his little family taxed their budget.

Stan was starting to nod off by the time he heard his mother's car in the driveway. It wasn't unusual; he tried to stay up for as long as he could after his Friday/Saturday shift, but eventually he had to nap, and he preferred to do it on the couch with Kyle and Ellie hugged against him, at least until Ellie needed a diaper change or Kyle got bored and started on homework. He didn't bother opening his eyes when his mother came through the door and into the living room. He was tipped over onto Kyle, sleeping with his face in Kyle's hair while Randy entertained Ellie by making one of her toys talk to her in a goofy, high-pitched voice.

"Um," Sharon said. "Boys?"

"Hmm?" Kyle said. He sounded half-asleep, too.

"Can one of you please tell me why Kenny McCormick is sitting on our doorstep crying?"

Stan sat up slowly, thinking he might have dreamed that. His mother was standing behind the couch in her yoga clothes, flushed and looking concerned. Kyle leaned up onto one knee as if he would be able to see Kenny from over the couch.

"Wait," Stan said. "Really?"

"Yes," Sharon said. "I asked if he'd like to come inside, and he said he was still thinking."

"Oh, for God's sake," Kyle said.

Stan could hardly believe that the person he'd talked to during his shift was crying. Kenny had seemed so detached. Stan stood from the couch and walked around to the front door, which his mother had left open just a crack. He couldn't hear any crying, but he could see Kenny sitting on the stoop, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, like he was waiting for Stan to come out and play.

"Dude?" Stan said, pushing the door open. Kenny turned halfway but didn't look up.

"Don't invite me in," he said. His voice sounded a little broken, and his face was pink, his eyes puffy.

"Why not?" Stan asked.

"Because I'm a vampire," Kenny said.

"Jesus, shut up," Stan said. He walked out onto the stoop and took Kenny by the arm, pulling him up. Kenny still wouldn't meet Stan's eyes as he dragged him inside. Kyle was standing in the foyer, holding Ellie. Stan had only been allowed to watch Kyle play poker a few times, and the expression he had on now was the one he wore during games: mostly blank, slightly pinched.

"Randy," Sharon said. "Let's - would you come upstairs for a minute? I want you to look at that clogged sink."

"Well, well, well," Randy said, walking around the couch. He was wearing his robe over a t-shirt and boxer shorts, holding his empty coffee cup. "If it isn't Mr. Child Support."

"Randy!" Sharon said, grabbing him by the elbow. "Let's stay out of it, okay?"

"You've got a lot to learn about fatherhood, brah," Randy said, but he allowed Sharon to pull him upstairs. Kenny just stared at his shoes. Stan had his back against the door, blocking Kenny's exit in case he tried to bolt.

"What the hell do you have to say for yourself?" Kyle asked when they heard Stan's parents' bedroom door close upstairs.

"Um," Kenny said. He looked up at Ellie. She was holding the toy Randy had been animating for her, a plush unicorn whose fur had once been white. After a year of being adored by her it was more gummy and grayish. "She's big," he said.

"I was hardly asking for your opinion on my child," Kyle said.

"I know," Kenny said. He turned to Stan, who felt something heavy lift and then fall again in chest when Kenny met his eyes. "The truth is, um." Kenny glanced at Kyle and Ellie, then back at Stan. "I still don't really know what I am."

"Well, you're not a fucking vampire," Stan said.

"Here," Kyle said, approaching Stan, holding Ellie out toward him. "Take her."

Stan was afraid Kyle was going to strike Kenny, and he stepped out of the way with Ellie, toward the stairs. She dropped the unicorn on the floor, probably to protest the fact that no one was paying attention to her. Kyle usually admonished her for this, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at Kenny. When Kenny finally looked up at him, Kyle grabbed him and hugged him, squeezing his shoulders. Stan could see Kyle's knuckles go white, and he thought that must hurt, but Kenny just hugged him back.

"I'm very upset with you," Kyle said when he pulled free, gripping Kenny's shoulders less severely. "But you're not dead," he said. Ellie whined and struggled in Stan's arms, not at all interested in this scene.

"Horsie," she said, trying to get to the unicorn.

"Shh," Stan said. He bent down and retrieved it for her, though that was against Kyle's rules, because it meant Stan was playing into her game. Kenny was scrubbing at his face and sniffling when Stan straightened up again. Kyle crossed his arms over his chest.

"I felt like I got kicked out of South Park," Kenny said. "I know that's stupid."

"Unless you've secretly been in touch with Butters all this time, that's what we're really mad about," Kyle said.

"I haven't been," Kenny said. "I felt like I didn't know him anymore, by the time I left. Or, like. Like I'd already been cut out of the picture."

"Stan says you're an antique dealer or something," Kyle said, and Kenny laughed.

"Uh." He glanced at Stan, who was still too angry with Kenny to hug him, and a little shocked and annoyed that Kyle wasn't. "Something like that."

"The man?" Ellie said, pointing to Kenny.

"That's Daisy's, uh," Stan said. "That's our friend. We knew him when we were little."

"Little?" Ellie looked back at Kenny.

"I don't know how to talk to kids," Kenny said, his eyes filling up again. "I barely know how to talk to people anymore." He glanced at Stan. "As you, um. May have noticed."

"Well, come in and eat some leftover lasagna," Kyle said. "If you're hungry. I think there are a few crusty end pieces left."

"Kyle," Stan said. He hadn't expected him to vault right into Mom mode.

"What?" Kyle said, already pulling Kenny toward the living room. "It's pretty much the last day that the leftovers are going to be viable, and I'm so sick of lasagna."

"Stan's mad at me," Kenny said.

"You're damn right I am," Stan said. Ellie threw the unicorn down again, more forcefully this time, and Kenny bent to retrieve it.

"Understandably," Kenny said as he tried to give the unicorn back to Ellie. She got shy and curled more closely to Stan, eying Kenny warily.

"I'm mad, too," Kyle said. "We're all mad. Who cares? There's still a surplus of lasagna to consume. Don't give her that," he said, snatching the unicorn out of Kenny's hand. "She's being a brat."

Ellie started wailing, groping for the toy. Stan took her upstairs to change her and calm her down while Kyle fixed lasagna for Kenny, something Stan wasn't entirely on board with. He was relieved that Kenny had come to them, and that he seemed to be remorseful. He still wasn't ready to pet him and feed him and fold him back into their lives.

"What do you think about that guy?" he asked Ellie as he changed her from her pajamas into a shirt with a watermelon on it and a jersey skirt that was made by Craig.

"The guy?" Ellie said.

"His name's Kenny," Stan said. "The one downstairs."

"High chair," she said, clapping. She associated the first floor of the house mostly with the kitchen, and therefore with that particular object.

"I don't think he's high," Stan said. "Maybe it would be easier if he was."

"Daddy downstairs," Ellie said. Stan wasn't sure if she was remarking on Kyle's whereabouts or asking to be brought there. Stan picked her up and brought her to the mirror that hung over the bureau. There was a soft brush there that Kyle used on her hair, and Stan always felt clumsy when he attempted to do the same. She laughed like he was playing a game when he tried to get her hair looking more orderly.

"Who's that?" Stan asked, pointing to himself in the mirror.

"Daddy," she said, clearly happy to answer an easy question.

"And that?" he said, pointing to her.

"Ellie," she said. "Me!"

"You're so smart," Stan said, kissing her cheek. Her ability to recognize herself in the mirror was a relatively recent development, and Stan still got excited about it on a regular basis. She'd been one of the last of the famous South Park babies to start walking, but she was an early talker. Only Kinglet, who did both before any of the others, beat her to talking.

Downstairs, Kenny was eating lasagna and drinking one of Ellie's juice boxes. Kyle was sitting next to him, staring at him without shame while he ate. Kenny actually looked relieved when Stan appeared and slid Ellie into her high chair.

"She's going to think it's time to eat again," Kyle said.

"She can have a snack, can't she?" Stan said. "Some grapes?"

"Fine, but-"

"Peeled and quartered, I know."

Kenny observed this exchange warily, then got back to shoving lasagna in his face. When he was done he got up and washed the plate. Stan fed Ellie grapes, surprised by how normal it felt to have Kenny in the room. Ellie sang nonsensically and swayed in her chair, occasionally pausing to look around at all three of them like she was waiting for applause.

"So how's Butters?" Kenny asked when he sat down again. He picked up the juice box and sucked the last of it out loudly.

"Butters is coping," Kyle said. "He's very skinny."

"He's not eating?" Kenny said.

"He's eating," Stan said. "Just not - enthusiastically, maybe."

"He's eating Lean Cuisine," Kyle said, leaning forward as if this was damning. "He's very monk-like. It's like he's doing penance for something."

"What does he say?" Kenny asked. He was chewing on his straw, letting the empty juice box dangle from his lips. Ellie seemed fascinated by this. "About me?"

"We bring him these envelopes of cash that you send," Kyle said. "These _postcards_. And he'll say something like, 'that sure was swell of him.' And then I box his freaking ears until he admits that it wasn't all that swell."

"What, you're trying to turn him against me?" Kenny asked, and he wilted when Stan scoffed. "I mean, I see your point-"

"You could at least mix up your refrain once in a while," Kyle said. "Asking him to remember that you love him is so insulting. It feels instructive."

"I didn't mean it that way," Kenny said.

"I need to know something," Stan said. Kenny glanced at him nervously. "How did you fall in love with him in the first place?"

"Yeah," Kyle said, chiming in the way he had when they were kids, when they were always on the same side. "We always wondered."

"Art class," Kenny said.

"I didn't know you took art in high school," Kyle said.

"I didn't," Kenny said. "I'm talking about sixth grade. Everyone else was trying to express their inner darkness during free drawing time. Butters would draw pictures of us, his friends. I knew what that felt like, you know, to have your friends mean that much to you. I was drawing naked ladies because I thought it was cool, but Butters drew what he really cared about."

"You really cared about naked ladies, once," Stan said.

"That was part of our confusion," Kyle added.

"Well, yeah," Kenny said. "Mine, too. That's why I couldn't really put it together until we were older. I'd been attracted to guys before, but Butters was this whole other entity. Anyway, why does it matter now? It's not like he's still holding a candle for me. Right?"

"You know he is," Kyle said, frowning. Ellie smacked her tray impatiently.

"Hey," Stan said, but he gave her another grape anyway.

"There hasn't been anybody else?" Kenny asked.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Kyle said. "He's basically a hermit, Kenny. He doesn't date."

"I tried to set him up with Tweek," Stan said, not wanting that to come out later. Kenny's eyes widened.

"Whoa," he said.

"I know," Kyle said. "Stan doesn't really have bottom-dar. He offered to let me, you know, our first time. I cried!"

"Excuse me," Stan said, shooting Kyle a look. "But maybe you don't have as good, uh, radar as you think. Because Tweek is, um." He glanced at Ellie, who had tipped her head back onto her high chair to show her boredom. She was moaning under her breath, the usual precursor to a tantrum.

"Tweek is what?" Kyle asked.

"Topping," Stan said, and he felt himself blush.

"Ping!" Ellie shouted, throwing up her hands. Kenny laughed.

"No, he's not," he said.

"Why would you even _say_ that?" Kyle asked, looking horrified.

"Because Craig told me - shit, don't tell anyone. Don't tell Wendy."

"She's the first person I'm going to tell," Kyle said.

"What?" Stan asked, so exasperated that Ellie started giggling, entertained again, as if she'd decided this was all a play they were putting on for her. "Why would you tell her?"

"You guys, Jesus," Kenny said, laughing harder. "You're exactly the same."

"Well, what did you expect?" Kyle asked, rounding on him angrily. "We're where you left us, aren't we?"

That silenced everyone, including Ellie, who seemed as if she wasn't sure this was amusing anymore. Stan plucked her out of her high chair and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. Kenny tossed the juice box onto the table.

"No," Ellie said, and she whined when he looked at her.

"She's afraid of me," Kenny said.

"She's afraid of everyone," Kyle said. "She's afraid of my father half the time."

"Not of Sheila?" Kenny asked.

"Sometimes," Stan said. "If her hair is particularly intimidating."

"There are times when it isn't?"

"The point is," Kyle said. "Are you ready to go see Butters and Daisy? Or not?"

"Daisy," Ellie said. "Butters?"

"She knows them better than I do," Kenny said.

"Shut up about that and answer my question," Kyle said.

"How can I face him?" Kenny asked. "I don't have anything to offer him if I stay. If I go, at least I know I'm providing for them."

"You don't know crap," Stan said. "Daisy needs another perspective, whether you and Butters are together or not. Butters is raising her like Rapunzel."

"What the hell does that mean?" Kenny asked. "He's not cutting her hair?"

"He's not exposing her to real life," Kyle said. "I think he's afraid a hawk is going to snatch her away if she goes outdoors."

"I'll see them," Kenny said. "But if he doesn't want me around her, I'm not going to fight him."

"That's what I don't get about all of this!" Stan said, so loudly that Ellie startled in his arms. He pet her hair to comfort her, but she still seemed tense, and he felt badly. "You don't fight for anything," Stan said when he looked back up at Kenny.

"You two don't know what it's like," Kenny said. "Everything's been easy for you."

"Don't hide behind excuses," Kyle said. He got up and took Ellie from Stan, because she was beginning to cry. "Of course we had some advantages, but we fight for each other. We do." He looked at Stan before shushing Ellie, bouncing her in his arms as he walked from the kitchen.

Kenny folded his arms on the table and put his head down. Stan resisted the urge to pet his hair. It looked so silky.

"We'll go with you," Stan said. "You don't have to go alone. Unless you want to."

"You're such a dad," Kenny said, and his eyes were red again when he lifted his head. "I really wanted to be, you know? But I was thinking - whenever I was there for Karen, I'd put up this wall. I was never there for her as _me_."

"She's graduating in a couple of weeks," Stan said. "You could be there for her then."

"Is she headed for college or anything?" Kenny asked, and Stan could feel him bracing himself for bad news.

"Yep," Stan said. "CSU. Kyle's school. She got financial assistance for the dorms and everything. It's just conditional on her working in the admissions office, but I think it's only like twenty hours a week."

"You talk to her?" Kenny asked. He seemed astounded, as if Karen was some inaccessible celebrity.

"Well, yeah," Stan said. "She works at Tweak Brothers, so. We see her sometimes. And she visits Butters and Daisy at the apartment. Your mom does, too."

Kenny put his head in his hands again, his elbows on the table. "It's too hard," he said, mumbling.

"What is?" Stan asked.

"Coming back to life."

"At least you get to." Stan reached over to touch his arm. "We thought – we worried."

"I'm sorry," Kenny said. He peeked at Stan from between his fingers. "Elway still looks like you," he said. "A little more like Kyle, though, too. Are she and Daisy - are they friends?"

"They get along well," Stan said. "Parallel play, you know. Or maybe you don't. We sort of hope they feel like sisters, since they won't have any siblings."

"They won't?" Kenny said. "Kyle doesn't still have, uh. The equipment?"

"No," Stan said. "We have regular checkups with the doctor who delivered Ellie, and the womb's been gone since around the time he lost his, you know. Milk."

"Oh." Kenny peered into the living room, where Kyle was pacing around with Ellie, whispering to her while she made wibbling noises of complaint. "So. They're gone?"

"Kenny, for God's sake. Yes."

"No, I'm not complaining! I'm just commiserating, or, um, expressing my sympathy. I know you liked them," he said, lowering his voice.

"Well," Stan said, fidgeting. "Yes, but there's still - it's not totally back to the way it was."

"Well, obviously," Kenny said, and Stan frowned, because he seemed to be remarking on Kyle's weight.

"So?" Kyle said when Stan and Kenny came into the living room. "Are we going over to Butters' apartment or what?"

"I need to think," Kenny said. "About what I'm going to say." He looked down at his clothes. "Should I wear a tie?"

"Absolutely not," Kyle said. "But - Stan. Do you have a nicer shirt you could give him?"

They resolved to take Kenny to brunch first, to get him more accustomed to talking to other people before he began any conversations with Butters. Stan still felt strange about the whole thing, especially as they dressed Kenny in one of his button-down shirts and Kyle neatened his hair with Ellie's brush. Kyle hadn't been there when Kenny ranted at the pharmacy. Stan felt as if they were pretending things were going back to normal, but he wasn't sure that they could.

Wendy had answered his 'code red' text with '?' and Stan had promised to explain at brunch. Kyle insisted on joining them, and he dressed up for the occasion in a way that made Stan kind of embarrassed, though he looked cute in a fitted green sweater and corduroys. They dropped Ellie off at the Broflovski house on their way there, and Kenny sank down into the backseat when he saw Sheila approaching, but it was too late.

"I'd like to know just what you have to say for yourself, young man!" she said, leaning in to the window that Kenny had slowly rolled down after she'd glared at him for a few seconds.

"You guys sure learned how to miss me," Kenny said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sheila asked.

"Mom!" Kyle said, pulling her away from the car. Ellie was watching from the doorway of the house, squirming in Ike's arms. "I've already been over this with him, okay, I've got it handled."

"Handled!" she said, but she allowed Kyle to guide her away from the car, still ranting under her breath about Kenny having some nerve. Kyle groaned when he climbed back into the passenger seat, and Stan was quick to peel out of the driveway.

"You know how she is," Kyle said, not quite apologizing.

"No, it's fine," Kenny said. "Good practice for Wendy."

When they arrived at Rathburn's Wendy and Craig were waiting at the usual table near the front windows. It was unusual for Craig to show up on time, and Stan thought he must be eager to discuss the Kenny situation. His eyes got almost as big as Wendy's when he saw that Stan had brought him.

"Can I take this chair?" Kyle asked, stealing one from a nearby table. He shoved it in next to Stan's and sat down beside him while Wendy and Craig gaped at Kenny, who dropped down into the chair at Stan's other side.

"This is code red?" Wendy said, dragging her eyes away from Kenny to look at Stan.

"Uh-huh," Stan said.

"You two have a code?" Kyle said.

"Not really," Stan said, and Craig snorted.

"Code red is universally understood to mean – this sort of thing," Wendy said, looking at Kenny again.

"Hi," he said, flatly.

"I hear you're a wizard now," Craig said.

"You told him?" Kenny said to Stan.

"Wait, what?" Wendy said. "What is happening? Why is Kenny here? In what sense is he a wizard?"

Stan glanced at Kyle, expecting him to have an opinion about Kenny's wizardry, but he was looking at the menu. He seemed pleased just to be at brunch, as if he'd forgotten about the drama with Kenny altogether. Apparently microwaving some lasagna was all Kyle needed to come to terms with Kenny's reappearance in their lives.

"I came back against my will," Kenny said.

"What," Wendy said, "You ran out of money?"

"That was my excuse," Craig said.

"Let's just say I was drawn here by unstoppable forces," Kenny said. Wendy rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she said. "Let's say that, fine. Now you're here, whatever forces were involved. So what are you going to do next?"

"Other than show up at brunches you weren't invited to," Craig said, glancing at Kyle.

"Stan and Kyle seem to think Butters would like to see me," Kenny said. He was staring at his menu, picking at a corner of paper that was peeling away from the backing.

"Are you stupid?" Craig said. "Of course he wants to see you."

"Not to mention Daisy," Wendy said. The look on her face was making Stan feel guilty about the way he had pounced on Kenny at the store, but it was still an appropriate reaction. "She might enjoy having, like, _a dad_."

"I don't know," Kenny said, snapping his eyes up at her. "Would you want me for a dad?"

"You're asking someone who fathered a child with Eric Cartman," Craig said, slashing his hand through the air over the table. "A dad's a dad."

"Fuck you, Craig," Wendy said. "Eric is a good father and you know it."

"Why the hell are you two so quiet?" Craig asked, looking at Stan and Kyle. "You especially, Broflovski. Why aren't you shouting your usual surplus of opinions at him? Too busy deciding if you want bacon or foie gras in your omelet? They'll let you have both, you know."

"Well," Kyle said, setting his menu down. He seemed calm in a way that Stan found worrying. "I just thought I'd let you and Wendy have at him until you get all of your sanctimonious slobber out of your systems. Craig, you know, it might occur to you that you're being a _little_ hypocritical here."

"Hey, fuck off," Craig said, coloring. "I can admit I made a mistake. I guess I expected him to say so right away, not to act like he got dragged here by cosmic forces."

"It's not like I ran off because I wanted to go clubbing," Kenny said. "My mistake was giving his hypocrite sadist father what he deserved. They ran me out of town after that."

"Why didn't you write?" Wendy asked. "Why didn't you let him know you were okay, that you were thinking about him?"

"That's kind of what the cash was supposed to convey," Kenny said. "I'm really sorry I never came up with a poem or something to express my true feelings. I'm sure Cartman would have been much more thoughtful. Something like, 'bitch, I miss fucking you.'"

"Alright, get up!" Wendy said, standing. Kenny scoffed and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I'm not fighting you. That's more your husband's specialty."

"Stop picking on her!" Kyle said, reaching across Stan to smack Kenny's arm. "Wendy, sit down! God! People are staring!"

"I just can't believe the nerve," Wendy said. She sat, snatching a roll from the basket in the middle of the table and tearing it in half angrily.

"Me either," Stan said, glaring at Kenny. "Dude, back the fuck off. Nobody's sitting here saying we're perfect."

"Really," Kenny said dryly. "How silly of me to feel that way. It's not news to me that I suck ass," he said, looking at Wendy. "I'll get it tattooed on my forehead if that'll make you happy. I thought maybe you guys could help me come up with what to say to Butters, how to apologize, but if you're just going to sit here and berate me –"

"Nobody's berating you," Wendy said. "We're expressing surprise about the way you handled what was admittedly not an ideal situation. I think we're entitled to that. You're the one making personal attacks like a cornered animal."

"Alright," Kyle said, holding both of his hands over the table. "Here comes the waiter. Let's all act like civilized people for a moment."

They did, and Kyle ordered a yogurt parfait. Stan wanted to squeeze his thigh under the table and whisper that he didn't have to eat light just because Craig was watching, but he knew pointing it out would only make him feel worse. Stan got a burger, knowing Kyle would at least eat some of his fries.

"First of all," Wendy said after the waiter had gone. "I think you need to start by apologizing for punching Butters' father, not by acting like you were the hand of justice."

"That motherfucker was asking for it," Kenny said.

"Maybe so," Kyle said. "But Butters has made a kind of delicate peace with his parents since he moved out of their house, and he doesn't need you coming back and throwing a wrench in it, or making him feel bad about wanting their acceptance. I agree with Wendy. I think it would be a nice opening gesture to say that, while you were basically forced to leave town, it was only because of your own direct actions."

"You sound like a lawyer," Kenny said.

"Well, maybe you could use one!" Kyle said. Craig laughed.

"Just be sincere," Stan said. "It's Butters, man. You don't have to come up with some brilliant persuasive speech. Just tell him that you love him and you've missed him."

"If that's even true," Craig said.

"Do you think I don't know you left town, too?" Kenny asked. "Stan and Kyle told me, so don't act like—"

"It was terrible and I couldn't wait to get back," Craig said. "I know we left for different reasons, and maybe mine weren't as noble as the great Kenny McCormick's, but I don't know how you stayed away for so long without anything passing between you but money. Tweek and I would at least talk on the phone. And even that was fucking agony, because I wasn't there with him."

"Stop," Stan said. "I think we've all made it clear how we feel about – things. Enough, okay? Kenny's our friend." Stan looked over at him, staring until Kenny met his eyes. "Right?"

"I'm sorry," Kenny said, quietly. "About what I said. This morning. About your shirt. That crazy bullshit."

"What did he say about your shirt?" Craig asked.

"Never mind," Stan said. "Thanks," he said to Kenny. "I knew you didn't mean it."

"I'm just panicking, okay?" Kenny said. "Mostly about Daisy. We don't know each other."

"She's not all that shy," Kyle said. "She likes people. You'll get to know her."

"What if I'm the one person she doesn't like?" Kenny asked, flipping his fork over on the table. "Kids have an innate sense about deadbeat dads. I always did."

"You loved your dad," Stan said, though it seemed like a cruel thing to say. Kenny looked over at him and frowned. "Sometimes," Stan clarified. "When we were kids. You did. And you're not him, anyway. You're not a deadbeat."

"Their apartment is very nice," Kyle said, helpfully.

"Well, I just want to say," Wendy said, lifting her orange juice, "That I'm really glad you're back. I didn't mean to attack you. I just – we've wanted answers for so long."

"There was a lot of speculation about how you were making all that money," Craig said.

"I'm sure," Kenny said. He shook his head and looked at Stan. "How's Henrietta?" he asked. "I have some business opportunities that might interest her."

"Oh, hell no!" Kyle said. "Do not encourage that woman to do witchcraft!"

"Yeah, please," Wendy said. "And we don't really know how she is, or what she's up to. She moved to Connecticut with her baby and that gay friend of hers. Wren, or whatever he's called. I guess he's going to school up there, and, I don't know. They have some kind of arrangement."

"Some kind of arrangement," Kenny said. "I guess that's all I can hope to have with Butters anymore."

No one disputed this. Stan thought that wasn't necessarily the case, but he didn't want to get Kenny's hopes up. Butters had mostly stopped talking about him a year ago, except to say that it was nice of him when he sent money, as if Kenny was a distant relative who'd remembered his birthday.

The food came, and Kyle didn't reach for Stan's fries, so Stan fed him a few. Kyle blushed and grinned while he chewed them, and they both ignored Wendy's and Craig's dirty looks.

"This isn't going to be a regular thing, is it?" Craig asked.

"Hmm?" Stan said, turning from Kyle's cheek, which he'd been kissing.

"Bringing the significant others to brunch," Wendy said. "It's kind of against the rules. How'd you like it if I showed up with Eric?"

"I'm hardly Cartman," Kyle said, glowering. "And I don't care about coming to your stupid brunches, believe it or not. I'm just here to support Kenny. I knew you two would be awful."

"Thanks, Mom," Kenny said, smirking at him. "And I guess, um. Now would be a good time to mention that I don't have any cash." He glanced down at his half-eaten pancakes. "I forgot, sorry. I'm not used to being penniless anymore."

"We'll cover yours," Stan said. "But after this we're going to head over to see Butters. Okay?"

Kenny nodded. Stan was dreading it almost as much as he seemed to be. He'd never felt comfortable in the presence of another couple's drama. It was something to do with his parents and their multiple divorces.

"Do you think any of us would benefit from therapy?" he asked on the drive to Butters' apartment. Kyle didn't seem nervous at all; he was almost dozing in the passenger seat. Kenny snorted at the question.

"I presume you're referring to me," he said.

"No," Stan said. "I meant me."

"Sweetie," Kyle said, touching his leg. "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"I meant no, you don't – why would you need therapy? What are you talking about?"

"My parents? I don't know, forget it."

"A therapist would probably have me committed," Kenny said. "If I was honest."

"Honest about what?" Kyle asked, groaning. "Seriously, dude, what are you getting at with all of this wizard stuff? Were you in cahoots with Henrietta back in the day or something? I do remember you being weirdly pleased about the whole thing when you first found out."

"I never told anyone I was a goddamn wizard," Kenny said, and he left it at that. Kyle sighed and turned on the radio, changing it to a news station.

Kenny sat up straighter as Stan pressed the key card that Butters had given them against a pad on the call box at the gate. Stan's stomach was in knots. He watched Kenny surveying Butters' new digs as they drove past the pool.

"This is beautiful," Kenny said. "This is exactly what I wanted for them."

"Don't you think we should warn him?" Stan asked for the tenth time.

"This is not the kind of news that should be delivered over the phone," Kyle said. "And it would only make him anxious. No, this is better. He won't have time to decide how he should feel. He'll just feel it."

Stan thought that was cruel, though it also seemed correct. He remembered being a kid and figuring out that this was true about most of what Kyle said and thought. Then Kyle would take him totally off guard and want to rescue a whale from its aquarium enclosure. Stan loved him because of the combination of those two impulses, and how they could cripple him when they collided. He loved Kyle for being the only one who wasn't visibly petrified as they climbed the stairs toward Butters' apartment, and for eating french fries out of his hand in public, and for knowing to give Kenny old lasagna.

"What if he's not home?" Kenny asked, whispering.

"He's always home," Stan and Kyle said in unison, and they glanced at each other warily.

"This is the worst thing I've ever done," Kenny said.

"Do you mean coming here now, or staying away?" Kyle asked, and he knocked on the door.

"Both." Kenny was standing behind them, and Stan almost wanted to encourage him to duck down, to hide until the last possible moment. They heard quick footsteps behind the door.

Butters pulled open the door with the customary cheerful, expectant look on his face. Even the expectancy didn't have to do with anything he wanted for himself; he was expecting to be asked to help out, to entertain, or to reassure whoever was there that he was actually doing just fine. It was disturbing to see that look freeze there in confusion and then quiet alarm, his smile still stretched across his lips but not really classifiable as a smile anymore.

"We should have called," Stan said, horrified by what they'd done. "Butters—"

"Kenny," Butters said, and he put his hands out, one landing on Stan's shoulder, the other on Kyle's. He pushed them aside like curtains and jumped onto Kenny, hugging him.

"Hey," Kenny said tearfully, hugging him until his heels had lifted off the ground. "Cupcake," he said, so softly that Stan wouldn't have recognized the word if Kenny hadn't told him once that it was his nickname for Butters.

"You look so good," Butters said, laughing when he pulled back to cup Kenny's cheeks.

"It's Stan's shirt," Kenny said, trying to swallow his tears. They were pouring out of his eyes anyway, soaking his face. Stan glanced at Kyle. He was leaning in the doorway, watching them like he'd known this would happen, looking a little sad about it.

"Oh, gosh, Kenny," Butters said, trying to dry his cheeks. "Look at you. You look like a fresh start."

"Let's go inside," Kyle said. "I'm sure Butters has a lot of questions."

"Is Daisy, um—" Kenny said, peeking cautiously at the door.

"She's having her afternoon nap," Butters said. "She'll be up in an hour or so. Come in, okay, let me show you the place!"

Stan looked at Kyle again as they entered, and this time Kyle met his eyes. He looked worried, and Stan felt it, too, though he wasn't sure why. So what if Butters wanted to forgive Kenny right away? That was his prerogative, and Butters' handling of his relationships had always been hard to predict. There had been a time when they were all certain he was hopelessly gay for Cartman, willing to do anything for him, but when Cartman pushed him too far Butters would kick him in the ribs without hesitation, and when Wendy beat Cartman to a pulp Butters had cheered her on.

"Wow," Kenny said as Butters led him around by the hand, showing him the spotlessly clean apartment. They toured everything but the nursery; the door with Daisy's name on it in chunky pastel letters was shut.

"I've got my own car now, too," Butters said. "And insurance, all kinds of insurance!" He beamed at Kenny, still clutching his hand. "You sure did right by us."

"Butters," Kenny said, clearly perturbed. "I'm sorry—"

"Are you hungry?" Butters asked, releasing Kenny and heading for the kitchen. "I've got some entertainment crackers that aren't too stale, and some colby jack—"

"We just came from brunch," Kyle said. "Let's all sit down, unless – me and Stan could go –"

"No, don't be silly!" Butters said from the kitchen. It opened into the living room, separated by a bar with tall stools. "You guys are welcome to stay. Gosh, when's the last time we were all together? Before the kids were born, right? Does anybody want some tea? I'm going to make some tea."

The shake in his voice was gradually becoming more obvious. Stan went into the kitchen and tried to help him gather cups and saucers, but he was shooed away. He lingered and watched Butters' hand trembling as he filled a kettle with water.

"Um," Kyle said, sitting on the couch while Kenny remained standing, still crying silently. "So, uh. Kenny. You never told us exactly where you'd been staying."

"All over, right?" Butters said, looking up from the kettle. "We got postcards from so many different places. I made a scrapbook with them, I've got in the bedroom if you want to see it."

"I don't want to see it," Kenny said, and his face pinched up in a way that made Stan want to run to him and give him some kind of sheltering attention. Kyle pressed his hand to his mouth.

"Kenny," he said. "Come sit. Come here." He patted the cushions beside him and Kenny sat, letting Kyle put an arm around him.

"Daisy will be so happy to see you," Butters said, turning his back to the living room. He flicked on the gas burner and punched a button on the back of the kettle that shut the spout. "I've told her all about you."

"What did you say?" Kenny asked.

"Just –" Butters said, and that was where he seemed to run out of steam. He stayed frozen at the stove, his back to them. "Ah. I don't know what I said. Lots of things."

"You can go sit with them," Stan said gently, approaching him. "I'll do the tea."

"I really don't mind," Butters said, his hands closing around the edge of the stove.

"Butters," Stan said. "You can – you don't have to –"

"I said I don't mind!" Butters said, and he grabbed a teacup from the counter. Kyle shouted when Butters turned and whipped it against the wall, shattering it. "Jesus, Stan! Let me make a pot of tea in my own fucking house! I'm not an infant!"

"Okay," Kyle said, standing. "Maybe we should go." Kenny had his face hidden in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Stan could hear Daisy start to cry.

"Oh, shit," Butters said softly, sniffling. "I've woken her up. I don't know – why I did that, I'm sorry, Stan, I'm sorry—"

"I'll check on Daisy," Kyle said. "Stan," he said, sharply. "Come help me."

Stan was glad to, though he wasn't sure Kenny and Butters should be left alone together. Still, it was a relief to slip into Daisy's nursery with Kyle and shut the door behind him. She was standing up in her crib, wailing.

"Shhh," Kyle said, lifting her out. "It's okay, you're okay." He kissed her silky hair, hugging her to him. She was comforted but still insecure, wibbling onto his shoulder. "Poor baby," Kyle said, sounding like he might start crying, too. "Poor little thing."

"She's okay," Stan said, touching one of her hot cheeks. She whimpered and turned her face against Kyle's neck. She'd always preferred him to Stan, and he tried not to get his feelings hurt. Kyle insisted that she just wasn't used to having someone so butch around, which made Stan roll his eyes and remind Kyle that he wrote song lyrics about his emotions on a regular basis. Kyle insisted that babies couldn't differentiate between types of butchness, and Stan's stubble was enough to quality him.

"Well," Stan said when Daisy was quiet, almost asleep again as Kyle held her, rubbing her back. "That was awful."

"Yes, but maybe it's inevitable," Kyle said, sighing. They listened for the sound of conversation from the other room and heard nothing, then a chaotic clinking – broken china being dumped into a trash can. "At least he didn't get very far with pretending everything is okay," Kyle said, whispering. "That was effing eerie."

"So what do we do?" Stan asked. "Sit in here in the dark and hope they work things out?"

"Oh, God, Stan, I don't know what to do," Kyle said. He went over to the rocking chair in the corner and sat down, arranging Daisy in his lap until she was comfortable, her ear pressed over his heartbeat. "Clearly," he said, looking guilty. "I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea. Or why I thought I could just feed him and put him in a nice shirt."

"I loved that you did that," Stan said, kneeling down to sit at Kyle's feet. He rested his chin on Kyle's thigh and listened again, but still couldn't hear whatever was going on out there. Kyle stroked his hair, and Stan remembered that he hadn't slept yet when he closed his eyes.

"I lied before," Kyle said. "I liked being there at your stupid brunch."

"I know," Stan said.

"You should kick Craig out of the group now that Kenny's back," Kyle said, and Stan grinned.

"I'd miss how horrible he is sometimes," Stan said. "It's like – it's like why you play poker with Cartman. You just need some amateur villains in your life."

"I suppose," Kyle said. They looked at each other when they heard a sharp gasp from out in the living room, like a painful inhale in the midst of tears. Butters, by the sound of it. Daisy grunted in her sleep, and Kyle took his hand from Stan's hair to pet hers.

"He can't stay here," Stan said. "I mean, after we leave."

"I know," Kyle said. "He – he can stay with his mother and his sister."

"Yeah. But maybe not tonight. Not right away."

"Stan," Kyle said. He shook his head. "I can't – we can't just adopt him, we don't have room. In any sense."

"Just for one night. At least let's bring him to MacKenzie's."

"Suddenly you're sympathetic?"

"Well, I always was. But. The look on his face when Butters was being nice."

"Shit. I know."

They stared at each other for a while, and Stan felt so close to Kyle in the moment that he was sorry that he was holding Daisy and not Ellie.

"I wish every day was like this," Stan said.

"Hmm?" Kyle said. "Listening to heartbreaking things from another room?"

"No, just. Me and you, dealing with things. Having adventures."

"We have those," Kyle said. "The baby—"

"I know, I know. You're right. I'm just so – I didn't sleep."

"We'll sleep soon," Kyle promised. He stared at Stan for a while, petting Daisy's head absently. "Do you want to go to therapy?" he asked.

"Not really," Stan said, and it was true. He didn't want to spend the money, for one thing.

"Do you want to quit your job?" Kyle asked. "Because you could."

"No," Stan said. He did want that, but he didn't want to be more of a burden on his parents, or to give up on supporting Kyle and let the Broflovskis reclaim him. They still weren't married; they couldn't afford to travel to any of the states where it was legal, and even if they did it wouldn't be recognized at home. "Maybe I'll go to pharmacy school, though. When she's in kindergarten."

"Don't defer your dreams."

"Don't quote seventh grade poetry lessons at me when I'm this exhausted."

The door to the nursery opened, and they turned to see Butters silhouetted in the light from the hallway. It was dim inside the room, a night light shaped like a tulip glowing under the window, where the blinds and curtains were pulled shut.

"Is she okay?" Butters asked, crossing the room. Stan could see Kenny lingering in the hallway – just one of his sneakers, an elbow. He seemed to be unwilling to even look inside the room without permission.

"She's fine," Kyle said, handing Daisy to Butters. "She went back to sleep almost right away."

"Daddy," she said softly when Butters had her. He kissed her temple and looked at Stan, then Kyle. His face was dry, but his eyes looked raw.

"I'm sorry if we were presumptuous," Kyle said.

"No," Butters said. "I want her to meet him."

He turned toward the door and carried her out into the hallway. Stan wasn't sure if he should follow, but Kyle hopped up and did without hesitation, catching Stan's hand on the way.

The hallway was brighter than the nursery, some light spilling in from the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Kenny had stopped crying, too, but he didn't seem okay. He was looking at Daisy, his hands on the small of his back like he was waiting to be cuffed. Daisy was still in the process of waking, rubbing at her eyes. Even in the low light Stan could see that her freckles glowed in the same pinkish way that Kenny's did after they'd been washed with tears.

"That's your daddy, too," Butters said to Daisy while she and Kenny observed each other. "I know it's a little confusing. A lot confusing. For me, too. This is the magic boy who used to come to my window. Like in your Peter Pan book."

"Boy?" Daisy said.

"Well, he's bigger now," Butters said. "But he's still a boy, yeah."

"I'm not magic," Kenny said, looking at Daisy when he said so. "Whatever I am, there's nothing magical about it."

"Don't say that," Butters said. "You – there's something. You look remade. Doesn't he look like a wish somebody granted?" Butters asked Daisy, kissing her forehead.

"Juice?" Daisy said, and Kenny laughed.

"I'm just getting in the way of her snack time," he said.

"Well then, mister," Butters said. "Why don't you help me? I'll show you where her sippy cups are."

Kenny and Daisy drank grape juice; everyone else had tea. Stan loaded his with sugar but still felt ready to drop. There were also entertainment crackers and some cheese that only Kyle nibbled at. There was no real conversation, just Kenny saying 'holy shit' over and over again, staring at his daughter, until finally she repeated a clumsy approximation of those words.

"Oh boy," Butters said, but he didn't really seem upset.

"Shit – I mean – sorry." Kenny winced. "I wasn't even thinking."

"It's still hard for me," Kyle said. "Ellie's started saying effing."

"They always repeat the words that you put the most emotion behind," Stan said. "Like question words. They like the inflection."

"I don't know anything," Kenny said, but he seemed kind of excited, as if he was considering a catalog of titillating college courses.

"You'll learn," Butters said.

"You want me around?" Kenny asked.

"Around," Butters said, looking at Daisy, who was gnawing on a cracker. "Yeah. That's a good word for where I want you."

Kyle boggled at Stan, who repressed a nervous smile. It was the most appropriately bitchy thing he'd ever heard anyone say, and to hear it come from Butters was disorienting and good, a relief.

"I won't have money like what I sent you," Kenny said, stretching his arms out on the table. Daisy did the same thing on her high chair tray, imitating him. "I mean, I'll work, I'll get as many jobs as I can, but it won't be that kind of money."

"Fine," Butters said. "I have some saved from what you sent. I can get a job, too, if you watch her while I work."

"You'd trust me to do that?" Kenny asked. He gave Stan a desperate look. "I mean, I don't even know if I'd trust myself, like, I've never even changed a diaper except for on those plastic practice babies in Garrison's class—"

"I don't mean right away," Butters said. "But diapers are easy. I can show you right now if you want. She smells kind of stinky."

"No, she doesn't," Kenny said, laughing. "Does she?"

Butters took Daisy into the nursery to change her, and Stan and Kyle lingered at the table, letting them have a private moment. Feeling antsy, Stan started clearing the dishes. They heard Butters explaining about diaper rash. Kenny sounded nervous, but at one point they both laughed.

"So ready to get out of here," Kyle whispered.

"I know," Stan said. "But – I don't want to rush him."

"Right, of course."

They started edging toward the door half an hour later, and Kenny seemed to understand that he would be coming with them. He made plans to join Butters and Daisy in the park the following afternoon, and they exchanged cell phone numbers.

"You still haven't asked me how I got all that money," Kenny said as they were making their exit.

"I don't need to know everything about you," Butters said, and there was something authentically cold in it that made Stan sad. "I just need you to stick around."

"I will," Kenny said, nodding. "And I—" He glanced at Stan and Kyle, who were backing out into the hallway. Stan had already resolved to let Kyle drive home; he was too delirious to trust himself behind the wheel. "I still love you," Kenny blurted. Butters pressed his lips together and hoisted Daisy higher on his hip.

"Love you!" she said, waving to Kenny.

"You too, dude," Kenny said. He swooned toward her, then froze, looking at Butters. "Um, can I give her a kiss?"

"Kenny," Butters said. "Of course you can." Daisy giggled when Kenny kissed her, swatting at him when he pulled away. "She does that when she doesn't want you to go," Butters explained. "But – you should go. For now. Until tomorrow."

"I know," Kenny said, but he lingered. Stan could almost hear the impatient groan that Kyle was holding in. "Can I kiss you?" Kenny asked, his eyes flicking up to Butters'.

"No," Butters said. "I don't think so."

"Okay," Kenny said, nodding. "Alright."

"Maybe on the cheek," Butters said when Kenny turned to go, and Kenny quickly took him up on the offer, then leaned down to kiss Daisy's forehead again. He held Butters' gaze as he backed away, waving. Butters was smiling in a way that Stan hadn't seen in a long time, sort of subdued and small. It was the weirdly distinct way he'd smiled when they were kids, when he was pleased with himself for answering something correctly in class, smug but sweet.

"Well," Kyle said as they walked to the car. "That was extremely draining. Even for me. Let's go home and have some midday wine coolers."

Kenny responded to this suggestion by grabbing Kyle and hugging him so fervently that he yelped. Stan stood there feeling awkward until Kenny groped for him and pulled him over to wrap his arms around him, too.

"I don't know," Kenny said, though neither of them had asked him to explain. "Just, thanks."

"You're staying with us tonight," Stan said.

"Yeah," Kyle said. "And you should come with us to Stan's show."

"Stan has a show?" Kenny said, lifting his face. He looked even more tired than Stan felt.

"At a steakhouse," Stan said. "It's nothing."

"It's a fancy steakhouse in Colorado Springs," Kyle said. "And they have him booked every Saturday night, indefinitely. They love him. One night he made sixty bucks just in tips!"

"Only 'cause some drunk old lady put two twenties in there," Stan said. "Possibly by mistake."

"You know he's modest," Kyle said, waving his hand through the air.

"I haven't heard you play in forever," Kenny said, grinning. "Can we smoke before we go?"

"Kenny, no!" Kyle said, looking up from unlocking the car. "You can't smoke anymore. Smoking's over."

"I know, right," he said, shaking his head. "You're right." Stan decided to wait until later to tell him that he'd smoked weed with Ike at almost every Broflovski family holiday gathering since Ellie was born.

Back the house, Stan slept while Kenny and Kyle had wine coolers with Sharon down in the kitchen. He woke when he heard Sheila's voice from the first floor, and knew he should put in an appearance, but he lingered upstairs until he heard her car pulling out of the driveway. It was evening but still light outside. The days were getting longer.

He'd become accustomed to waking up at odd hours and coming upon meals and conversations that were in full swing, like a kid who'd wandered downstairs during a grown up party. He plucked Ellie out of Kyle's arms and sat down at the kitchen table with her without speaking; the others were talking about some interview Cartman and Wendy had given recently that they felt was inaccurate. Stan had never cared about their press. He buried his face in Ellie's hair and breathed in the smell of her.

"Did you have fun at grandma's?" he asked.

"The rain," she answered.

"Is it going to rain tonight?" Sheila was always talking about the weather.

"Rain tonight," Ellie agreed. Stan hugged her to him, sorry that they hadn't spent more time with her during the day. On Saturdays she generally hung out with Sheila or Sharon while Kyle did homework and Stan slept after his shift, then there were only a few hours with her before they left for Colorado Springs.

"Tomorrow we'll spend the whole day together," he promised. He thought of taking her to the park to see Daisy and Butters while Kenny visited with them, then decided it would be better to leave them alone together.

"Did Sheila give you hell again when she dropped Ellie off?" Stan asked Kenny. He shrugged.

"I can take a little hell," he said.

They drove to Colorado Springs at six, and Stan was on edge as soon as they got into the car. Ellie had cried when they left her, and he felt neglectful for having spent time with other children during the day – Daisy, Kenny.

"She'll be happy that her dad does something he likes at least once a week," Kyle said. "When she's older. And maybe you'll be doing more of it by then. Don't feel guilty. Taking care of yourself is part of taking care of your children."

"Don't quote baby books at me," Stan said.

"Not everything I say is a quote," Kyle said, giving him a long look that Stan pretended not to notice from the corner of his eye.

"I feel like I've messed up your routine," Kenny said when tense silence followed. "Kyle said this is usually your date night."

"Sort of," Stan said. "Kyle does his homework."

"It's not like I'm not listening to you play."

"I didn't say you weren't."

They were all quiet after that, and Stan laughed when he parked at the restaurant and turned to see that Kenny had fallen asleep, draped over Ellie's empty car seat. He reached back to shake Kenny's knee.

"We're here," he said. "Put your shoes on."

"He's already got them on," Kyle said. Kenny just yawned.

"It's a joke," Stan said. Kyle snorted.

"Okay. I don't really see how that's a joke. But okay."

Stan wasn't sure why they were both in such shitty moods, except that it had been a long day. He got his guitar out of the trunk and walked ahead of them into the restaurant, feeling embarrassed. It was something about carrying the guitar case, or the idea of Kenny watching him play for tips while people ate garlic mashed potatoes. What if Kenny had been to other worlds? As someone who'd gotten another boy pregnant, Stan could hardly rule out anything that seemed impossible. Wherever Kenny had been, money grew on trees and the hair products were amazing. Skin products, too; Stan rubbed his dry, unshaven cheeks self-consciously as he set up on the stage. Kyle was at his usual table, gossiping with Kenny instead of spreading out his books. Sometimes Stan wanted to quiz him on which songs he'd played during his set, because he didn't really listen.

Stan's mood improved after he started playing, because the crowd was decent and it felt good to always know what to do next as he moved through his usual set. Kenny clapped loudly after every song, and whistled after some.

"How come you're not singing?" he asked when Stan joined them at the table for his dinner break.

"I don't really do that here," Stan said, glancing at Kyle, who was twirling pasta around a fork. He usually waited for Stan to order.

"Why not?" Kenny asked. "You've got a good voice."

"It's not really that kind of crowd," Stan said. Something Kyle had said once. Kyle dropped his fork and gave Stan a humorless stare.

"Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?" he asked.

"Um, I'm not?"

"Did I say something wrong?" Kenny asked. "Look, guys, I'm sorry—"

"It's not you," Kyle said. "Stan woke up on the wrong side of the bed after that nap. You know, my mother isn't stupid. She knows you hide up there when she comes to drop Ellie off."

"We're gonna have a fight about your mother right now?" Stan said, raising his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Okay," Kenny said, getting up. "I'm gonna have a smoke."

"No, you're not." Kyle grabbed his elbow and yanked him back into his seat. "Don't be ridiculous. Cigarettes, really? You've got to quit."

"Kyle's right," Stan said, and he could feel a palpable throb of happiness from Kyle's direction: his favorite two words. He could have also said Kyle's four least favorite words: _You sound like Sheila_. But he doesn't really feel like fighting. "When did you start?"

"It's not really serious," Kenny said, like he was talking about an affair he was having. "I mostly came in there to see if Stan was there, not to buy smokes."

"I knew it," Stan said.

At the end of his set he played his favorite song do in public, one that he knew he shouldn't play. It was his own arrangement of 'We Get On,' and he'd changed the pronouns in the past, but he didn't feel like it this time, so he sang about being infatuated with a guy. Few people seemed to be paying attention anyway, but Kyle was staring at him the whole time.

"Whoa," Kenny said when Stan returned to the table.

"Don't be mad," Stan said to Kyle.

"I'm not," he said, and it was true that he didn't seem to be, but he was quiet on the drive home.

"That was—" Kyle said when Kenny was asleep again, just outside the Park County line. "That song—"

"I know," Stan said. When they were fourteen and they had been fooling around for almost a full year, Kyle had told him that he used to listen to that song on loop, thinking about Stan. He'd always wanted to play his arrangement for Kyle, but didn't want Kyle to think he was making fun of him or, worse, being corny. Kyle thought the whole instrument was corny, though he wouldn't say so out loud.

"I don't know why I got so fixated on that song," Kyle said. "It didn't even work for us. The singer doesn't really know the guy. But it had started to feel that way, like – there was this part of you that I would never have access to. This stranger. And there was that part about watching TV alone on Saturday nights."

Saturday had once been Stan and Wendy's date night. Stan squeezed Kyle's hand and checked the rear view mirror to make sure Kenny was still sleeping.

"Dude, you were thirteen," Stan said. "Every thirteen-year-old watches TV on Saturday nights."

"You didn't," Kyle said.

"I longed to return to you," Stan said, putting on a corny voice. "My true love."

"I take you for granted," Kyle said. "I won't let you sing."

"It's not you – dude, you know how embarrassed I get, singing. It's not you."

"I've never had enough faith in you. Oh, God, what have I done?" He pulled his hand from Stan's and covered his face, leaning forward.

"I think you had too many wine coolers at tea time," Stan said, rubbing his back. "If you want me to sing, I'll sing."

"I feel like we've had this fight so many times," Kyle said, his face still covered.

"What fight?"

"Where I try to tell you to do things for yourself. Not just everything for me and Ellie."

"What do you expect me to ask for?" Stan asked. "You are the thing I do for myself. The only reason it turns into a fight is that you won't accept that."

"I just can't – when I hear that song. You don't know how that song takes me back to feeling like I'd never have you."

"Sorry, hey, I'm sorry." Stan felt awful, because maybe his annoyance with Kyle had been part of the reason he was finally brave enough to play it in front of him. "I didn't think of that way. It's like a love song for us now, in my head. 'Cause now we know it turns out happily. Right?"

"You're not happy," Kyle said, looking at him timidly.

"Happiness is a dog sunning itself on a rock."

"Don't quote me quoting Coleridge to you!" Kyle said, slapping his knees. "I'm upset!"

"I only mean that, like, do I have everything exactly the way I want it? Hell no, Kyle, but nobody does! The worst kind of sadness, unhappiness, whatever, is not being able to make yourself care about anything. I've felt that way, and the way things are now is the opposite of that. I care about you and Ellie and making things a little more like the way we all want them so much. And that's, I mean – that's what makes me happy. Okay? Take my fucking word for it, Kyle."

"I can't believe you played that song at that steakhouse," Kyle said, smiling a little. "That line about the girl who does nasty things—"

"It was almost ten," Stan said. "The place wasn't, you know – anybody still hanging around was pretty drunk. I don't think anyone was really listening."

"I was," Kyle said.

"I know," Stan said. "I could tell."

They got home a little after eleven and Stan and Kyle crept upstairs to check on Ellie. She was sleeping in her crib, hugging her unicorn. By the time they returned to their room, Kenny was asleep in their bed. Kyle untied Kenny's shoes and slid them off while Stan checked his email.

"Kyle Broflovski has updated his Facebook," Stan said, reading from a subject line. He still had a dummy account that no one knew about so he could keep track of the pictures Kyle uploaded.

"Oh, yeah," Kyle said, pulling his shirt off and replacing it with the one he usually slept in, Stan's over-sized John Elway jersey. "It's just a picture of Kenny."

The title of the picture was 'fyi,' and it was Kyle and Kenny in the Marsh family kitchen, arms around each other, Kyle looking a little wine coolery but in general pretty cute.

"A bunch of people have liked it," Stan said. "Cartman has disliked it."

"I hope it won't get Kenny in trouble with Butters' father," Kyle said. "He says he talked about it with Butters and he doesn't think it will be an issue."

"Yeah, that was so long ago," Stan said. "And it's not like his nose actually _broke_."

They scooted Kenny over so they could fit between him and the wall. The bed was no longer really big enough for the three of them, and Stan was already overly warm as he tucked Kyle to his chest. He still felt restless, wide awake. They usually had sex on Saturday nights.

"I can't believe you played that song," Kyle said, still awake after they'd been in bed for twenty minutes, listening to Kenny's reedy breathing.

"Sorry," Stan said.

"No, don't be sorry. It's just, it takes me right back, like I said. Thirteen, what an age. Ellie's going to be thirteen someday. In eleven years and three months. We'll be thirty-one! The inverse of her age. Kinda weird. Witchy or something."

"I still feel thirteen half the time," Stan said, and Kyle laughed. "The other half, I feel sixty."

"I guess that's true of everyone," Kyle said.

"Yep," Kenny said, startling them. "And I'd know."

"Go to sleep, fucking – fire mage," Kyle said, and they all laughed, bouncing against each other like they were having a sleepover and staying up past their parents' warnings to keep quiet, still three kids who were dreaming of getting out of South Park someday, though it was the place where all their stuff was, everything they had.


	17. Epilogue

**A/N:** So, this is it! I considered waiting to post, because I guess Saturday night is kind of a graveyard, but I'm too excited to be finished with this story and to have closure with it myself. This final epilogue (okay, the actual epilogue) is set further into the future than I originally imagined, and for good reasons, I think. Thank you for reading, you guys, and for your feedback, and for even giving this story a chance in a lot of cases! I always believed the insanity of mpreg would fit well with South Park and all its possibilities, and I'm really glad I gave the idea a chance myself, in part because I've had such awesome support from you guys throughout (been working on this for 6 months...!), so thank you thank you!

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><p>Staying away from South Park had been easy, but it was harder to stop thinking about the people who were still there. Kyle had friended her on Facebook, something she assumed was Stan's suggestion, and she kept up with her former night school classmates mostly through that medium. She still didn't believe in perfunctory conformist crap like social networking sites, but she did appreciate having a window on their lives. Ten years later, the once-pregnant boys of South Park were still her major interest when she logged in.<p>

Kyle updated most frequently, almost obsessively. He posted pictures of Stan and Ellie, and occasionally he was tagged in group shots, usually by his brother, who seemed to have made a habit of posting pictures of Kyle in the midst of unflattering activities like eating a hot dog at a barbecue or wearing tight shorts while washing his car. Ike had some kind of crisis during college and was living with the Marshlovskis in Bailey, which was equidistant to Kyle's consulting job in Denver and Stan's various music students in South Park. Kyle frequently posted pictures of the house, which was situated on an impressive plot with mountain views. The fireplace had stonework that went all the way to the roof beams, and Stan and Ellie were regularly photographed in front of it, Ellie looking progressively less happy about this as she got older. Kyle was also fond of posting pictures of things Stan had cooked for dinner.

The others were of less interest to her, because they were less directly affiliated with Stan, who she still held a tiny, birthday-sized candle for. Kenny and Butters had listed their relationship status as 'It's Complicated' for almost the full ten years she'd been away, Craig had moved to Denver to room with Bebe and Tweek was dating Kevin Stoley's younger brother, who had just returned from college. Token and Clyde had gotten weirdly religious around the time Clyde lost 80 pounds and started posting pictures of himself completing triathlons, and they had adopted two children, a boy and a girl who were a few years younger than Nathan. Most of their pictures featured the happy family posing at expensive-looking vacation destinations. Wendy and Cartman had surprised everyone by remaining married since their freshman year of college and by being only moderately financially successful. They still lived in South Park, and they had two more daughters, three-year-old twins. Wendy had done the baby-carrying this time around.

As far as Henrietta could tell, no one except Butters looked at her Facebook. There wasn't much to see, aside from the occasional picture of her and Oleander dressed up for GalaxyFest or Halloween, and these were usually posted and tagged by Wren, who insisted that he only used Facebook because everyone at work would think he was weird if he didn't. He'd gotten awfully conformist since returning to Colorado to become a crusading labor rights lawyer. He claimed he hadn't moved home to be close to his parents again, but Henrietta and Oleander had to suffer through dinners in South Park every Sunday, featuring Wren's mother's vegan goop. Henrietta's mother usually came, too, and everyone would fawn over Oleander as if they hadn't just seen him the week before. He'd inherited Damien's dark good looks, but he was sweet, and only possessed a few odd qualities that she suspected were related to his partially demonic blood. As a baby he'd grabbed for her hair iron while it was still hot and hadn't gotten burned, and the sun didn't seem to affect his skin, either, though she still made him wear sunscreen, just in case. Grasshoppers were drawn to him for some reason, and he knew all the major and minor constellations before she taught them to him, but otherwise he was mostly a normal boy.

"What's that?" he asked her when she brought the mail in on a Wednesday afternoon that Oleander had mostly spent lounging in front of the TV. It was July, just a few weeks after his tenth birthday. Henrietta was examining a fat, pale pink envelope with a South Park return address, and he hopped up off of the couch to investigate.

"Looks like a baby shower invitation," she said as she tore it open. They were at the counter in the kitchen, in the house that was technically Wren's. He kept offering to marry Henrietta so that they could own property together, and she kept laughing him off. Whenever he stopped lawyering long enough to meet the right guy she wanted him to be free of any legal obligations to her or Oleander, who he'd already done so much for. Oleander called him Dad. They hadn't told him about Damien, but Henrietta planned to, someday.

"You are invited to attend the ten year reunion of Herbert Garrison's Night School for Unwed Fathers," Oleander read when Henrietta stood staring at the invitation in shock. "Hosted by Wendy and Eric Cartmanburger. Cartmanburger? That's their name?"

"It's - it's a portmanteau," Henrietta said. She wondered if they'd included her on the invitation list by mistake. "I guess it's better than Testaman."

"What's the night school for unwed fathers?" Oleander asked.

"It's how I finished up high school," Henrietta said, stroking his hair, which was flattened awkwardly in the back from the couch cushions. "When I was pregnant with you."

"Oh. Was Dad there, too?"

"No, he was in normal school."

"How come?" Oleander asked, following her to the fridge. She wasn't sure what she would do once she got there. "If it was for fathers?"

"That wasn't the official name," she said, gripping the fridge handle. "It was for all the pregnant kids."

"You mean those boys?" He'd read about them, of course.

"Uh-huh," she said.

"Your friends?"

"Not exactly." She opened the fridge and stared inside. One of the reasons she'd kept Oleander out of South Park, except to visit his grandparents, was that she didn't want anyone telling him about her culpability for those famous pregnancies.

"So are you going to go?" Oleander asked, still examining the invitation. "It says there will be punch and pie. And games for the kids. Can I go?"

"Absolutely not," Henrietta said. She was staring into the fridge, feeling threatened by its contents.

"How come?" he asked. "I want to meet kids from South Park. From where you and Dad grew up, I mean."

"People from South Park aren't very nice."

"But you and Dad are from there, and you're nice!"

"We weren't that nice back then," Henrietta said, closing the fridge harder than she needed to. Oleander was staring at her when she turned, holding the invitation carefully between his fingertips. He looked hurt. He had a very expressive face, unlike her and Damien, and freckles that reminded her of Bradley's.

"Are you and Dad going to go without me?" he asked.

"Dad won't want to go," she said. Wren had no use for those people. He was defensive at the mention of them, on her behalf, as if she deserved to be defended for what she'd done. "And I probably won't, either."

"It says to RSVP," Oleander said, pointing. "As soon as possible."

Henrietta resolved to call Wendy that night and tell her no, thank you, and to put on a haughty, disaffected voice that suggested she had nothing to apologize for. They were memorializing the whole fiasco, after all. By the time Wren got home she was trembling in fear and pouring herself some wine.

"How was your day?" he asked, kissing her cheek. The cheek kissing was just a show he put on for Oleander, who was at the table making origami mice. He'd gotten a big origami book for his birthday and was determined to master all of the designs by the end of the summer.

"It was fine," Henrietta said. "Come out here and look at the tomatoes for a minute. I'm worried about, uh. Chinch bugs." She hoped this sounded boring enough to Oleander to encourage him to remain inside with his paper mice. It seemed to work, and she slipped out onto the porch with Wren, shutting the door behind her.

"Where are they?" Wren asked, leaning down to examine the tomatoes, which were growing in a pot on the back porch. He was still in his work clothes, slacks and a tucked-in shirt, loosened tie. She would never get used to the sight of Wren in conformist digs, and she missed the red streak in his hair sometimes.

"I didn't actually want to talk about bugs," she said, quietly. She walked over to the plant and squatted down as if to study it. "I got something in the mail today, this invitation. From Wendy Testa - uh, Cartmanburger, whatever she calls herself now. To a reunion barbecue."

"Reunion of what?" Wren asked. "Our so-called victims?"

"Wren," she said, standing. "We did change their lives significantly. I can't believe you don't feel guilty sometimes."

"Please," he said, and he stood up, taking her arm to steady himself. "We gave those South Park cows five little miracles. If things had gone badly, of course I'd feel awful, but we were dumb kids who thought we were just messing around. And everything turned out fine. Obviously, since they're having barbecues. You're not thinking of going, are you?" he asked, making a face.

"Of course not," she said, and as soon as the words were out she wanted to. She rubbed her palms together, surveying the plants on the porch. She was more passionate about gardening than spell casting now, though she had found some useful herb garden tips in books written by witches. "Although," she said, pacing. "If they're inviting me - maybe there's no hard feelings."

"Yeah, and maybe they want to lure you to their bonfire so they can burn you at the stake," Wren said, reaching for her arm again. "I don't think it's a good idea, Henry."

"Olee wanted to go," she said. "To meet kids from South Park."

"Oh, God." Wren rolled his eyes. "He's better off not knowing those hicks."

"We were those hicks, once. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe he could have some kind of special bond with the South Park girls. And Token's son, too, if they come. I mean, those kids are only alive because I was carrying Olee when I cast the spell. It was really his magic."

"It's too surreal now," Wren said, shaking his head. "Talking about all that stuff. It makes me nervous," he said, his shoulders slumping.

"Why?"

"Because - Damien. I know we sealed him or whatever, but what if he finds a way to come back? I don't even like talking about it."

Henrietta gave him a hug to reassure him. She wasn't worried about Damien returning. He had never wanted a baby; he'd only felt threatened by it, but if he saw Oleander and the way they were living he would know that she'd long ago given up her plans to raise a mighty demon hunter.

They sat down to dinner without resolving the issue, and Henrietta served the eggplant casserole and salad that she'd prepared while fretting over Wendy's invitation. Most of the ingredients had come from her own garden, though she'd had to go to the supermarket for the tomatoes, because hers weren't ripe yet. Her neighbors tended to remark that she must know some magic spells for getting vegetables to grow so successfully in the uneven Colorado weather. She did, actually, but she didn't say so.

After dinner, she crept into Wren's office while he was distracted by Oleander, who was showing him how to make origami ninja stars. She got out her cell phone and dialled the number on the invitation.

"Hello?" It was Cartman; Henrietta rolled her eyes and wondered if she should hang up. She'd been hoping Wendy had listed her cell number and not the family land line. She steeled herself, determined to no longer be afraid of the kids who'd bullied her.

"Yeah, hi," she said. "I'm calling for Wendy."

"Who is this?" Cartman asked. She could hear the hysterical crying of several toddlers in the background, and a blasting television set.

"This is - it's Henrietta Biggle," she said, trying to pronounce her name with some measure of confidence. "I'm calling about an invitation your wife sent me."

"Oh, Jesus, she actually invited you?" Cartman said, and Henrietta prepared herself for an argument, but he was shouting for Wendy. "Glenda the good for nothing witch is calling," he said when she answered him.

"I'm so glad you called!" Wendy said, shouting to be heard over the noise of her household, which now included Cartman telling Kinglet to get off the computer and help him with something, presumably the twins. "I hope you're calling to say you can make it," Wendy said. "You and Oh - Oleander?"

"That's right - that's his name," Henrietta said, not wanting Wendy to think she was agreeing to come. She still hadn't decided. "And I - I have to say, I'm really surprised you invited me." It was possible that Stan had never told anyone else about what Henrietta confessed to him, but unlikely. He certainly had more loyalties to them than to her.

"We're always wondering what you're up to!" Wendy said. "I mean, Facebook is one thing, but it's been ten years, so. I've seen pictures of your son - on Facebook, I mean - and he's just darling. Reminds me of Bradley, only less -"

"Fey?" Henrietta said, and Wendy laughed.

"Yes, something like that," she said. "Anyway, we'd all love to see you. Stan's always saying that he should call you."

"He is?" Her heart beat faster at the thought. She was often still tempted to right click-save the pictures of Stan that Kyle posted on Facebook. It was such obvious boasting, Kyle's continuous announcements that someone so handsome was cooking him Swedish meatballs with egg noodles.

"Yeah," Wendy said. "I think he felt a kind of responsibility toward you, in a way, because he was there with you that day, you know. When you went into labor."

"Oh," Henrietta said, and she was quiet for a while. "Do you think many people would confront me about that?" she asked. "I mean - I guess he told you. About that day."

"He told us." Wendy sighed, and it sounded a little put on. "Honestly, it's all mucked up with the rest of the drama in my memory. What an exhausting time in our lives. I went through it myself when I had the twins, and I thought I'd be prepared for it since I'd been there when it was Eric who was pregnant, but, gosh. Nothing can prepare you for that!"

"Yeah," Henrietta said. She'd hated pregnancy, but as soon as she held Oleander in her arms he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she regretted nothing now, not even letting Damien fuck her over. "I don't regret what I did," she said. "If you're all happy."

"That's kind of why I want you to come," Wendy said. "I don't want to thank you exactly, but I want you to see - what's become of us, I suppose. I mean, Kinglet is my best friend. Some days I want to kiss your cheeks for making all this happen."

"Other times you probably want to punch me," Henrietta said.

"That's more Eric," Wendy said. "But not really, I mean - he loves Kinglet so much. She'll always be his favorite, I think," Wendy said, speaking quietly, "Because he's the one who carried her."

"Sounds like Cartman."

"So you're coming!" Wendy said. "Right?"

"I don't know," Henrietta said. She thought of Stan in some dorky polo and shorts, flip flops, a beer bottle. Kyle would be clinging to his arm the whole time, just like high school. "I wouldn't want the other kids to pick on Oleander because of - me. If they know what I did."

"We haven't told them about you and the whole spell thing," Wendy said, the noise of her household quieting, as if she'd walked into another room. "As far as they know, they're unexplained. So no one would pick on your son."

"Well, then, I guess - okay. We'll come."

"Excellent! Are you going to bring your, um. Will Wren come, too?"

"Oh - no. He's - he'll be out of town, for work."

"That's right! He's a lawyer. Good for you! I mean, for him. Okay, I'll add you to the guest list. You and Oleander. Terrific!"

She seemed nervous, and Henrietta was glad to hang up. No one quite knew what to make of her and Wren and the fact that they were raising Oleander together. People tended to assume they were a couple, and Henrietta let them think so, for Oleander's sake. They did share a bedroom, and a bed, and neither of them dated, Wren because he was too busy with work and Henrietta because she didn't want to subject Oleander to it. Also, she wasn't exactly meeting eligible bachelors on a regular basis. Most days she didn't leave the house except to take a walk around the neighborhood or run to the store for dinner supplies. She'd never worked, and had never been to college. Oleander had always kept her busy, and Wren kept her intellectually stimulated. She liked the life they'd made together, as hard to explain as it was. She was lonely sometimes, enough to remember Damien's dick fondly, and to think about Stan's smile in some recent Facebook picture, but she didn't feel an empty ache where a spouse should be, despite what her mother thought. They might not be fucking, but Wren made her feel loved.

She checked Facebook before going to bed, feeling anxious as she clicked through the usual pages, as if her former classmates now knew that she was spying on them. There was nothing new since that morning, and she ended up just zoning out and staring at Kyle's relationship status: Married to Stan Marsh.

"So?" Wren said when he walked into the bedroom, startling her. She closed the lid of her laptop and set it aside. "Did you call Wendy and tell her you can't make it to her garden party?"

"No," Henrietta said. "I mean, I did call her. But I said we'd come."

"Henry." Wren paused in unbuttoning his shirt, giving her a horrified look. "Why?"

"Because I want to," she said. "And Olee wants to. She assured me that it's not a - witch hunt."

"Oh, right," Wren said. He shook his head and pulled off his shirt. "Well. I hope you don't expect me to come."

"I don't."

"I will if you want me to," he said, and his eyes were soft when he looked at her again.

"It's really fine," she said. "I'll go with Olee and we'll spend the night with my mom. Then we can meet at your folks' house on Sunday for dinner."

"I just don't understand what you want from those people," Wren said.

"You can't see how I need closure?" she asked. "The last time I saw Stan Damien was trying to kill me. I was too afraid to talk to any of them after that, except through stupid Facebook, and even then I chicken out of commenting on things half the time. I need to - not apologize, exactly, but I need to respect them enough to show my face."

"I don't see how they ever respected you," Wren said. He put a t-shirt on over his briefs and got into bed. Henrietta was always fondest of him when he was dressed like this, or in a black v-neck and jeans on the weekend. She scooted closer to him when he turned away from her.

"Some of them were sweet to me in night school," she said.

"Stan was, I guess," Wren said, muttering. "That's who you want to see?"

It was barely a question. She sighed and rested her chin on Wren's shoulder. He smelled like mouthwash and bond paper.

"The others, too," she said. "I wonder about them. I had this connection with them, you know?"

"No," he said. "I never had a connection with those people."

"Wren," she said, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically. "Maybe it's more like our kids are connected. I want Olee to meet those kids."

"They'll just be mean to him. You know how those South Park people are."

"I always thought I did," she said. "But look at how they reacted to that spell we worked. I thought it would break up all of those happy little couples for sure. Obviously we underestimated them."

They fell asleep soon after that, and did not discuss the reunion party in the coming weeks, unless Oleander brought up, which he often did. He had a couple of neighborhood friends who he hung around with during the summer, but apparently they were boring, and he was excited to meet new kids.

"They're mostly girls, you know," Wren told him. "There's only one boy."

"I like girls," Oleander said. He seemed determined to like everything about South Park. Henrietta wondered if he felt a connection to the place just because his parents had grown up there, or if it had something to do with Damien and his father choosing it as their place to surface, or if it was a lingering remnant of the spell he'd unwittingly been part of casting. It could also be run of the mill kid curiousity. Henrietta was always afraid to find connections to Damien's bloodline in Oleander's actions, but she was rarely able to come up with anything that wasn't a big stretch.

On the day of the party, Henrietta woke up feeling nervous, and her stomach was too rocky to allow for a proper breakfast. She nibbled at some yogurt while Wren stared at her, not drinking his coffee. Oleander ate his frosted shredded wheat without noticing that either of them were on edge.

"What?" Henrietta said to Wren when Oleander got up to rinse his bowl.

"Are you really going to that thing today?" Wren had been bitchy to her ever since she agreed to attend. It was annoying. Their arrangement was so organic and undiscussed that she sometimes forgot she had the ability to hurt his feelings.

"I'm going," she said. "You can come, if -"

"No," he said. "Spending the first eighteen years of my life in the company of those people was more than enough, thanks."

They left at eleven, after Henrietta had stressed over her hair and outfit for almost an hour. She still dyed her hair black, mostly to match Oleander and Wren, who both had that color naturally. She wore it to her shoulders now, and her style wasn't as heavy-handed as it had once been, but she stuck to her two favorite colors, wearing a red shirt with plunging neckline and a black skirt. Oleander wore his South Park Cows shirt, a gift from Wren's mother.

"Who was your best friend when you were little?" Oleander asked as they drove down the highway, toward South Park.

"Your dad," she said. "He was always there for me." She felt a little guilty saying so, because Oleander's actual father never was. Still, despite biology, there was no doubt that Wren was Oleander's dad, not Damien.

"Did he get in a fight with someone at this party?" Oleander asked. "Is that why he didn't want to come?"

"He just has a lot of work to do today," Henrietta said, not wanting to get into the grudge Wren held against the population of South Park. Oleander wouldn't understand that just being the one gay boy at their high school who didn't hook up with someone by senior year was reason enough for Wren to still resent all the others who had.

Henrietta realized that she should have offered to bring something as she parked on the street outside of Wendy and Cartman's house. It was probably a pot luck, like the ones they'd sometimes had during night school. She took Oleander's hand as they walked up the front path. The street was already lined with cars, and she could hear voices and laughter from the backyard.

"Will they make fun of my name?" Oleander asked when Henrietta rang the bell. He went by Andy at school, but Henrietta had never managed to think of him that way.

"No," she said. "You can tell them your real name if you want. They all have, uh. Creative names like you."

She was expecting Wendy to answer the door, and felt her face go white with shock when it was Stan who did. Even being overly familiar with his pictures on Facebook hadn't prepared her for the deflating experience of being in his actual presence. He was taller than she remembered, and a little bulkier. His eyes were the same ones she'd outlined in kohl during his goth phase.

"Whoa, hey!" he said, stepping forward to hug her. "Wendy told me you were coming, but I wasn't sure - hey, dude," he said, putting his hand out for Oleander.

"I'm Andy," he said when they shook.

"Nice to meet you," Stan said. "I'm Stan - your mom and I knew each other in school."

"I know," Oleander said, and Henrietta laughed nervously at how snotty he sounded. Stan grinned at her.

"C'mon in," he said. "Everybody's out back. I was just getting -" He held up a beer bottle. "Cartman was trying to hide the good stuff in the fridge, but I know his tricks. You guys want something?"

Henrietta accepted a beer, though she never drank anything and least of all beer, and Oleander helped himself to a can of Coke. The Cartmanburger kitchen was not as nice as Wren's. It was cramped and outdated, with sea green wallpaper and fake marble countertops that looked cheap. There were pictures stuck all over the fridge with magnets, and Henrietta leaned in to examine a few: Cartman holding a twin in each arm when they were babies, and Wendy hugging them both against her when they were old enough to wear little party dresses. The twins had soft brown hair and pouty faces that reminded Henrietta of Cartman when he was trying to win sympathy. Kinglet was prettier, with Cartman's big eyes and Wendy's sleek, perfect hair. She was tall and a bit stocky, and in most of the pictures that were pinned to the fridge she was in the company of a girl with wild red hair.

"Is that your daughter?" Henrietta asked, and Stan grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "That's Ellie. They're best friends."

"Kyle and Cartman's daughters are best friends?" Henrietta said. "Wow."

"Yeah," Stan said. "They've been pretty inseparable since pre-school. C'mon out, I'll introduce you to everyone. Or reintroduce you, I guess."

As they approached the sliding glass doors Henrietta felt like she might be sick. She wanted to beg Stan to linger inside the quiet house with her, away from the others, just to sit and talk, but she didn't want to push Oleander out into the crowd by himself. The backyard was small but well-maintained, fenced and dotted with flower beds, a miniature putting green in the back right corner. Henrietta had been afraid everyone would turn to stare when she walked out with Stan, but they all seemed fairly involved in their own conversations. Wendy was the only one who noticed them, and she bound away from Bebe and Cartman to say hello.

"I'm so glad you came!" She gave Henrietta a hug that was even more awkward than Stan's had been. "This must be Oleander?"

"Andy," he said.

"Oh, sorry! I should have known you'd have a nickname. My daughter does, too, but she's decided she hates it. The kids are over there," she said, gesturing to the area opposite the putting green, where there was a wooden playground set with swings and a slide. The younger kids were swinging and sliding while the older ones moped around looking bored. Oleander looked up at Henrietta, and she smiled at him.

"You can go introduce yourself if you want," she said.

"I'll introduce you, Andy," Stan said. "C'mon."

"Kay," he said, and he went with Stan.

"He's so good with kids," Wendy said as she and Henrietta watched them go. "It makes me sad sometimes to think he'll never have a son."

"Well, I could whip up another batch of potion if Kyle wants to try for a boy this time," Henrietta said, and she instantly regretted the joke, but Wendy laughed hard.

"I think he'd make Stan do it this time around," she said. "But seriously, how are you? You look good!" She didn't bother to conceal her surprise. Henrietta thought it was probably true, though she still had big hips and a fat ass, and cellulite down to her knees. The skirt she was wearing effectively concealed all of that.

"I'm okay," Henrietta said, watching as Stan pointed each of the kids out to Oleander, telling him their names. "I'm good, actually."

"You guys are in Denver?"

"Yeah. Well, the suburbs."

"And you – you're working?"

"No," Henrietta said. "Just – homemaking, I guess. You're an accountant, right?"

"Yeah," Wendy said, and she rolled her eyes. "Me and Eric both. It was just easier to do the same major, so we could split up the homework. He wants to open our own firm, but I don't know. I do in-house stuff for Tillman Soap. It's a pretty easy job, decent benefits, you know."

"Sure." She saw Cartman approaching them out of the corner of her eye, Bebe and Craig following behind him. She turned toward them, pretending to be fearless, feeling as if she was on trial.

"Well, well," Cartman said. "I didn't think you'd have the balls to actually show up."

"Eric," Bebe said. "Shut up. It's good to see you, man," she said, waving.

"I don't know why he's so surprised," Craig said. "You've always had huge balls."

"I guess that's true," Henrietta said, wishing Wren was with her. Craig looked better than he had at eighteen, expensively attired and not as scrawny. Bebe had always been beautiful and still was, wearing a sun dress and flat sandals that Henrietta could never pull off. She looked at least five years younger than Wendy.

"Where's your life partner?" Cartman asked.

"I told you he wasn't coming," Wendy said, hissing this at him. Cartman shrugged and drank from the beer he was holding. He was fat and his hair was thinning, but he still had the kind of disgusting virility that some women were attracted to.

"Where are the twins?" Henrietta asked, scanning the yard. She saw Oleander talking to two little boys around his age and guessed that they were Token and Clyde's sons.

"Liane's watching them," Wendy said. "They're a handful – we wouldn't be able to have a two minute conversation if they were here."

"What are their names?" Henrietta asked. She'd never spent much time perusing the Cartmanburgers' Facebook postings.

"Falcon and Finch," Wendy said, and she grinned when Henrietta's eyes widened. "I'm kidding!" she said. "We went with normal names this time. Courtney and Hanna."

"Wendy got to pick," Cartman said, as if he disapproved slightly.

"Next time you carry the baby, you can pick the name, darling," Wendy said, leaning against him.

"Don't even joke about that with her around," Cartman said, darting his eyes to Henrietta. "You'll notice that we don't have a punch bowl."

"Damn," she said, and Bebe laughed.

"You should come by the shop sometime," she said. "Since you guys live so close. We're doing boys' clothes now."

"Yeah, I should," Henrietta said. She'd always avoided Craig's children's clothing store when she was in the city. It had become popular after some write ups in magazines and local papers that mentioned the proprietor was one of the former pregnant South Park boys. People seemed to think this was a special qualification for making baby clothes. "You work there, too?" Henrietta said to Bebe.

"She's my apprentice," Craig said.

"I also work the register," Bebe said.

"Is Tweek here?" Henrietta asked, looking around.

"Yes," Craig said. "He's over there with his child bride."

Henrietta turned in the direction he was looking and saw Tweek standing near the side of the house with Kevin's brother, who did look ridiculously young. They were talking with Kyle, and Stan walked over to join them, his hands coming to rest on Kyle's hips. He slid them down toward Kyle's ass while Henrietta stared.

"His name is Stephen," Wendy said. "And you promised you'd be civil."

"I'm always civil," Craig said. "I could bring jail bait to family gatherings if I wanted to, believe me. But some of us have class."

"Let's get another beer," Bebe said, leading him back toward a cooler full of them. Wendy encouraged Henrietta to get something to eat, and she checked on Oleander as she headed toward the table where a variety of snacks were laid out. He was talking with two girls, both of them waifish and on the short side. Henrietta recognized the blond girl as Daisy McCormick. Kenny and Butters were lingering together in the shade of a big tree near the putting green, having what looked like an intense conversation. Their daughter was the prettiest and the most petite, and the other girl who was speaking to Oleander had to be Craig and Tweek's. She had Tweek's somewhat manic expressions and Craig's pinched little mouth. Elway and Kinglet were sitting at the top of the slide, muttering together in a way that made Henrietta think of Stan and Kyle on the playground in fourth grade. Looking at them, she felt a sympathetic pang. She could see it even on girls their age: they were both destined to be big-chested and hippy. At least they had each other to lean on during the awkward years. It was possible they would both be knockouts when they grew into their looks.

"Well, hey!" Clyde said when he made his way over to her at the snack table, where she was munching Chex Mix, feeling alone. Token trailed behind Clyde and gave her a similar friendly smile. Just looking at them made her feel like she was about to be asked if she'd heard the good news about Jesus. Clyde had a big cross around his neck, hanging between the open buttons of his polo.

"Wow, Clyde," she said. She'd seen pictures, but it was more striking in person. The short sleeves of his polo were straining against his arm muscles, and his chest was firm and streamlined. The last time she'd seen him in person he'd been enormously pregnant, and also coughing up blood because of the spell she'd cast on him. It was a bit of a shock to see him glowing with health.

"I saw your son over there playing with Nate and Ryan," Token said. "He's really cute."

"Yeah," Henrietta said. "Thanks, um. So are your boys."

"Ryan is adopted," Clyde said. "And June – she's around here somewhere." Henrietta guessed that June was the little Asian girl who was tagging along with Daisy and Artemis. Her hair was in pigtails, and Daisy seemed willing to treat her like a doll while Artemis mostly ignored her.

"I knew you had adopted," Henrietta said. "I didn't think, like. Well, I'm glad everything faded, you know, the physical, um. You guys had such a bad time for a while there. Because of me. That day in class—"

"Hey," Clyde said, taking her hand between both of his. "We forgive you."

"Nate is a blessing," Token said. "That's all we really think about when we remember – those times."

"Oh." She felt uncomfortable when they both stared at her, smiling benevolently. "So – are you guys still in Fort Collins?"

"We actually moved back to South Park!" Clyde said. "How crazy is that?"

"It's – pretty crazy!"

"We just wanted to raise our kids in a small town," Token said. "And our parents are here."

Henrietta excused herself a few minutes later, telling them she wanted to make sure Oleander got something to eat. Someone had brought out some child-sized golf clubs, and he was taking turns on the putting green with some of the other kids. Elway and Kinglet were still perched atop the slide, examining something on Kinglet's phone. Oleander waved Henrietta away when she told him to get a hamburger, saying he would eat later.

"How've you been?" Kenny asked when she walked over to him and Butters. They were still under the tree, both of them eating burgers off of paper plates.

"I'm fine," Henrietta said. "You guys look well." It was true; Kenny still had a youthful smirk that made him look barely twenty-one, and Butters was a little chubby but otherwise the same, smiling at her sweetly.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "Since you were one of the gang and all, back then."

"I really wasn't," she said, and she smiled to show there were no hard feelings about that.

"Sure you were," Butters said. "One of Garrison's kids, anyway."

"Is he still teaching?" Henrietta asked, hoping he wouldn't be in attendance.

"Sort of," Kenny said. "He got a job at the library and he does the afternoon story time there. It's pretty entertaining."

"He always had a lovely reading voice," Henrietta said. "What are you guys up to these days?"

"I'm doing sales for Tillman," Kenny said. "Apparently I have a very trustworthy face when it comes to pedaling soap products. Butters is an orthodontist."

"Seriously?" Henrietta said, trying to picture that.

"Yep," Butters said. "Put myself through school with some mystical artifact money I had stowed away. Say, if you're in the market for a set of bronze apothecary scales, Kenny's got one that's enchanted and such."

"I also do some, uh, non-traditional sales," Kenny said. "On the side."

"I don't really do that stuff anymore," Henrietta said. "You guys live in South Park?" she said, eager to change the subject.

"Yeah," Kenny said. "I still kind of live with my mom."

"Oh."

"It's complicated," Butters said.

"Yeah – I'd heard. Seen, I mean. Um, I'm gonna get another drink."

She went inside instead of pulling a beer from the cooler, needing a break. At the fridge, she got distracted by the pictures again, and she was peering at them when Kyle came up behind her.

"So," he said when she turned at the sound of his footsteps. "You came."

"My son wanted to," she said, hoping this would make her more sympathetic. She feared Kyle's judgment most of all, possibly because she'd been most intent on hurting him, once.

"Your son," Kyle said. He went to the fridge and pulled out a half-empty bottle of wine. "He doesn't look like Wren."

"Well, no," Henrietta said. "Wren's not his father. I thought people knew that."

"I guess some people do," Kyle said. "I forgot." He put his plastic cup on the counter and refilled it with wine. Henrietta was relieved when the sliding glass door that led into the living room opened and Stan walked in, tapping an empty beer bottle against his leg.

"There you are," he said, and she was thrilled for half a second, but he was talking to Kyle.

"I just had to get out of the heat for a minute," Kyle said. He was sweaty, and still puffy with pregnancy weight that he'd never lost, but he looked good when Stan came to his side and gazed at him like he was something worth having. "And Wendy's hiding the good wine in here, of course," Kyle said.

"Of course," Stan said, kissing Kyle's temple. He seemed a little drunk, but only in a smiley, good-humored way. He grinned at Henrietta. "You okay?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, forcing a laugh. "I'm fine."

"It's too bad Wren couldn't come," Kyle said. "He's a lawyer, right?"

"Yes," Henrietta said, wondering how Kyle could remember that and not that Wren wasn't Oleander's father. "He's with Ames & Pekron in Denver. You work in the city, don't you?"

"Yeah, for Lindt," Kyle said.

"The chocolate company," Stan said.

"I'm a consultant," Kyle said. "I'm not, you know. Packing fudge or something."

"Dude," Stan said, but he was laughing, his hand on Kyle's hip.

"What do they consult you about?" Henrietta asked. The air conditioning wasn't helping; she still felt overheated.

"Agricultural business," Kyle said. "I somehow got into that in school. Graduate school, I mean."

"He has to travel all the time," Stan said. "To South America and stuff."

"It's not really that often," Kyle said, turning to smile at Stan. "He hates it when I travel," he said, haughtily, as if anyone who'd ever spent more than a few days with them couldn't guess that Stan didn't like being away from him for long.

"Does Elway hate it, too?" Henrietta asked.

"Oh, God, no," Kyle said. "Stan lets her order pizza every night when I'm gone."

"I do not," Stan said.

"I bet it's nice," Henrietta said. "Me and Wren kind of want to take Olee – um, Andy – to Costa Rica, but Wren's always working."

"Well, Costa Rica is in Central America," Kyle said, like she didn't know that. "But I've been sent there, too – I brought Stan and Ellie on that trip. You guys should go, it's a great place for kids."

"Ellie loved it," Stan said, nodding. "That was, what? Last year?"

"Two years ago," Kyle said. "Personally, I don't love it down there. You know, the humidity. My hair."

"It's so funny that Elway and Kinglet are friends," Henrietta said, hoping to rile him a little. He was still so fucking smug. She felt like they were in Lit class all over again, having a passive aggressive disagreement over the interpretation of a poem.

"Kinglet is a little demon seed," Kyle said, and Henrietta yelped with surprised laughter. "But Ellie adores her, so, whatever."

"Dude, shh," Stan said, looking over his shoulder. "Don't say that. She's not a bad kid."

"Ha," Kyle said. "Stan doesn't believe me. Just wait, wait until they're teenagers. You'll be all aboard the anti-Kinglet train when she starts encouraging Ellie to shop lift and start a gang."

"Yeah, we'll see," Stan said, giving Kyle a one-armed hug. "Sheila probably said the same thing about me, once, to your dad."

"Well, was she really wrong to?" Kyle asked. "I mean, Jesus, we were having shower sex when we were fourteen. Fourteen, Stan! That's four years older than Ellie!"

"It wasn't sex, exactly," Stan said, looking a little worried. He seemed to remember Henrietta was there and gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry," he said.

"It's fine," Henrietta said. "I'm worried about Oleander growing up too fast, too."

"I can't believe Ellie is ten," Kyle said. "It's insane."

"It is insane," Henrietta said, and she blushed when she saw how Stan was smiling at her, with sympathetic understanding.

"We're doing a big party for all the kids," Stan said. "Since they were all basically born at the same time. Except Ellie and Nate, but we're doing it at Token's house. They've got this amazing pool. You and Andy should come!"

"Maybe," Henrietta said. It depended on how well Oleander liked these kids.

"Well," Kyle said. He poured himself more wine before putting the bottle away. "I'm going to get a hot dog or something. I'm starved."

"Get one for me," Stan said. "Just mustard. And make sure Ellie eats something."

Kyle left with his wine, and Stan reached into the fridge for another of Cartman's fancy beers. He passed one to Henrietta, too.

"Are they being nice to you?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I can't figure out why."

"Because we love our kids, probably," Stan said. "Because we wouldn't have had them without you. No matter how much we wanted them. You gave us that."

"But it was mean and petty," she said, and she gulped from the beer as soon as Stan popped the cap off for her. "It wasn't an act of charity or friendship or—"

"I know," Stan said. "You want to sit down over here for a minute, in the living room? You're all red."

They walked into the living room and sat on the couch, which was in front of a big window that looked out on the backyard. Henrietta checked on Oleander, and was glad to see him eating a hamburger in the company of Daisy and June. Artemis was riding on Craig's back as he strode across the yard to get another bottled water from the cooler. Kyle was talking Elway down off the slide, away from Kinglet and toward the food. She obeyed ploddingly, and Kinglet was quick to follow her.

"How about you?" Henrietta asked after they'd been quiet for a while, both of them looking out the window. "You're a music teacher now, right?"

"Sort of," Stan said, snorting. "I mean, I give lessons. Piano and guitar."

"I didn't know you played piano."

"I taught myself," he said. "At work – when I was still working at Walgreen's. I had my own office, you know, so I bought this little keyboard and taught myself how to play when I was bored during my shift. I'm not that good. But I can teach basic lessons to six year olds. Anyway, it doesn't make us any money, it's just something I do for spare cash. Mostly I'm a stay at home dad."

"That suits you," Henrietta said. "And I hope you won't take that as an insult, you know, coming from a stay at home mom."

"No, it's not an insult," Stan said. "I love it – that's what I really love, more than playing music, more than anything. Just, taking care of her. Yeah." He grinned. "I think I sound drunk."

"You don't," she said, beginning to feel tipsy herself. She kept taking nervous sips from the beer. "I'm completely the same. My mom keeps nagging me, telling me I need to have 'my own life.' I'm like, I love my life, and it's them. Him, I mean. Well, them."

She thought of Wren and wondered what he was doing. He would hate it if he knew she was sitting alone with Stan Marsh, drinking beer, smiling. She had the urge to get up and go back outside, so that Oleander wouldn't say anything later about how she'd disappeared for a while during the party.

"Kenny offered to sell me a magical scale," she said. "What's that about?"

"Ah, who knows?" Stan said, waving his hand. "He goes on these business trips, comes back and buys Butters a new car. I'm surprised Daisy doesn't have a car yet, Jesus. We never know what he's selling, exactly. Soap, he says."

"It's funny that him and Wendy ended up working for Tillman," Henrietta said. "We used to make fun of people who did. Not that – I mean, I can't talk, I don't do anything."

"No, I know what you mean," Stan said. "Here we all are, still in South Park, to some extent. But Kenny's doing really well. He's a good dad – Daisy worships him."

"He looks well," Henrietta said, glancing out the window. Bebe was talking to him, twirling her hair around her finger. "So, he and Butters—?"

"Oh, Jesus, we never know," Stan said. "One night they're groping each other at our dinner table, and the next time we see them Butters is throwing Kenny's clothes into the front yard. We always thought that would be Cartman and Wendy."

"Yeah, me too," Henrietta said. "And Cartman is an accountant?"

"Something about conquering the establishment from within," Stan said, waving his hand again. "Don't even ask. But Wendy and Cartman, man, they are devoted. So are Kenny and Butters, it's just kind of screwed up. They don't date anyone else, they just dance around each other until one of them pounces. Like those crazy birds in Papua New Guinea. Um, with the –?" He held his fingers up behind his head to indicate some kind of feather display.

"Does Daisy get affected by that?" Henrietta asked.

"Probably a little," Stan said. "But she got the best of both of them. She's sweet as hell, like Butters, but she has Kenny's zen. She's a great kid. She's like our niece, practically."

"I'm surprised Elway didn't end up being best friends with her."

"Yeah, well," Stan said. "They're still pretty close. They get on each other's nerves, though, like sisters. And I really don't think Kinglet is all that bad."

"What did she do to piss Kyle off?"

"Gave Ellie a gold cross for her seventh birthday," Stan said. "Also, she has Cartman and Wendy for parents, and that's enough for Kyle to suspect her of inherent villainy. And the cross was totally Cartman's idea, obviously, just to fuck with Kyle. Ellie loves it, though, she wears it every day. So Kyle went out and got Kinglet a Star of David necklace for her birthday that same year."

"Does she wear it?" Henrietta asked, hoping she did. She was always on Kyle's side when it came to Cartman.

"Hell yeah, she loves it," Stan said. "They call them their friendship necklaces. I don't think either of them really gives a crap about religion at this point. They just saw how worked up everyone got over these presents and decided they were special."

"How about Clyde and Token?" she said. "They've got all that Jesus stuff on their Facebook pages."

"Yeah," Stan said, shrugging. "We went to church with them once. It was fine. Their minister is a lesbian, you know, that sort of thing."

"Oh, okay. Got it."

The sliding door opened and Kyle stepped inside, holding a plate with two hot dogs on it, mustard only. He frowned when he saw them sitting on the couch with their beers.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked.

"Nope," Stan said. "I'm ready to eat. You coming?" he asked Henrietta, and she stood.

"These are all beef," Kyle said as he handed the plate to Stan. "So at least Wendy did me that favor. I'm sure Cartman had a shit fit over Hebrew Nationals entering his home."

"I don't think Cartman would be as opposed to having a Hebrew National enter his territory as you presume," Stan said, and Kyle laughed, gluing himself to Stan's side as they headed toward the card tables that had been set up near the grill.

"I'm driving home," Kyle said, plucking the beer out of Stan's hand. "And you're cut off."

"Okay," Stan said, his mouth full of hot dog. "Hey," he said, turning back to Henrietta. "Come sit with us. You and Andy."

She felt a hint of what she would have experienced in high school if she'd ever been invited to eat with Stan and his group in the real lunch room, not just the miniature, night school version that was presided over by Garrison. She waved Oleander over. He was working on his second cheeseburger; he had a big appetite but stayed skinny as a rail. Stan sat down at a table where Kinglet and Elway were eating, forking potato salad and sipping from canned soda.

"I'm cutting you off, too," Kyle said when he sat beside his daughter. "That's your last soda."

"It's only my second one," she said.

"Two servings of high-fructose corn syrup is enough for one day," Stan said.

"What school do you go to?" Kinglet asked Oleander. She was studying him in way that was slightly worrying. Henrietta had noticed that girls were beginning to pay attention to him, and it was terrifying. She had to reassure herself that he was too much of a sweetheart to use his face to get what he wanted and leave whoever gave it to him in the dust like Damien had.

"I go to Bear Canyon," he said. "I'll be in fifth next year."

"Us, too," Elway said. "I go to Colorado Academy, in Denver. Me and my dad commute together," she said, looking at Kyle, who smiled at her, mustard at the corner of his lips.

"It's a really good school," Kyle said. "I mean, it bankrupts us, but it's worth it."

"I go to South Park Elementary," Kinglet said. "It's a really shitty school," she said, sarcastically cheerful, and she and Elway laughed.

"Hey," Wendy said, turning from the buffet table. "Watch your mouth. And don't say things like that about your school. We all went there."

"And look how we turned out!" Kenny shouted from another table. Wendy gave him a look.

"Bear Canyon has a soft serve machine in the cafeteria," Oleander said. "But we're only allowed to use it on Fridays."

"Ha," Kinglet said. "Ellie's school has a pool."

"We have one in our neighborhood," Oleander said, shrugging.

"It's not even that great," Elway said. "Everyone is rich and snobby."

"Like Nathan," Kinglet said, quietly, and Elway elbowed her.

"You two are on thin ice," Kyle said, whispering. "You know, there's such a thing as being snobby toward rich people."

"He's not even snobby," Elway said. "He's just all Jesus-y. He said I should get baptized, and if I don't I shouldn't be allowed to wear this," she said, touching her cross necklace.

"I'll speak to Token," Stan said, putting his napkin down, but Kyle grabbed his wrist before he could stand.

"Calm down," he said, patting Stan's arm. "It's just – a child's misunderstanding. You have every right to wear that necklace," he said to Elway.

"Me and Ellie are both Buddhists, anyway," Kinglet said. "Or – no, what's that one where you believe in all religions being a little right?"

"Rastafarian?" Elway said, and they both cracked up.

"That is not funny," Kyle said.

"Anyway," Kinglet said. "Reincarnation is so totally better than heaven."

"You're mostly right," Kenny said, apparently still eavesdropping.

"Someone needs to cut him off," Stan said. Kyle snorted.

"What's Rastafarian?" Oleander asked, looking at Henrietta.

"See!" Kyle said, poking Elway's shoulder. "Look what you've done!"

"It's a Jamaican religion," Henrietta said. "I'll tell you later. Um, speaking of, uh. Where's Ike?"

"Ha!" Kyle said. "No, that was funny, nicely done. Actually, he's on a date. We're very excited."

"She's an older lady who has her shit together," Stan said. "I mean – her stuff," he said when the kids snickered.

"We're hoping she'll take him off our hands," Kyle said.

"Whatever," Elway said. "I love it when Ike lives with us."

"He lets her get away with murder," Kyle said. "As you'd expect."

"Who's Ike?" Oleander asked.

"Kyle's brother," Henrietta said.

"My uncle," Elway said. "He's Canadian. Sort of."

"Hey, can I make a quick speech?" Wendy asked, standing with her plastic cup of wine.

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle mumbled, and Elway laughed, leaning against his shoulder. The conspiring smile they shared made Henrietta's eyes burn, and she was glad for everything good that she'd accidentally done.

"I just wanted to thank you all for coming," Wendy said. "It's so hard for me to believe that we had our kids ten years ago, and that whole night school experience – the whole thing." She sounded a little drunk. "I'm just so happy to be able to count all of you as my friends, after everything," she said. "After all the years, and the changes, and everybody moving around. I'm so glad none of you went too far. I think when I was eighteen I would have cringed at that statement, but hopefully you know what I mean. So, um, cheers!"

Henrietta left not long after that, exhausted by the experience. Oleander seemed tired, too, maybe just from the heat. They said their goodbyes, and Henrietta hugged Stan one more time.

"Come to the birthday party thing," he said. "I'll get Kyle to send you an invite on Facebook."

"Did you ask him to friend me on there?" she asked. The buzz from the beers had worn off, but she felt emboldened just by having survived the party.

"No, no," Stan said. "That was Kyle's idea."

"To keep an eye on me?" Henrietta asked, and Stan laughed. She realized it was probably more that Kyle wanted her to keep an eye on him, to see that she hadn't ruined anything for him, that she'd only strengthened his good luck in her clumsy attempt to test his relationship with Stan. She waved goodbye to Kyle, who was standing with Kenny and Butters. He waved back, and his smile seemed genuine.

"Hey, see you!" Elway said, jogging over when Henrietta and Oleander turned to leave.

"Yeah," Oleander said. "We come to South Park every Sunday, to go to my grandma's house for dinner."

"Oh, cool," Elway said, glancing at Henrietta. She was blushing, or flushed from the heat. "Well, see ya," she said, and she let Stan put an arm around her and walk her back toward the house.

"I think that girl likes you," Henrietta asked when they were driving away. "Elway – Ellie."

"I dunno," Oleander said, muttering. "I like her hair, though. She looks like a Disney Princess."

"A Disney Princess!"

"Yeah!" He seemed truly embarrassed now, and Henrietta felt badly for bringing it up, though she would feel so vindicated if Kyle's daughter even briefly pined for her son. "Like a mermaid," he said, hugging his elbows and looking out the window.

They went to Henrietta's mother's house, where they lounged in front of the TV and ate a light dinner, both of them heading for bed early. Henrietta tried to call Wren and got no answer. She was restless in her childhood bedroom, kicking off the covers and pulling them back up. She'd expected a sense of closure after having spent an afternoon with those people. Something still felt very unfinished, and it had nothing to do with Stan. Her old fantasies about him seemed stale and irrelevant when she tried to ease into sleep by indulging in them.

She was just beginning to sleep deeply when something at the window woke her. Lost in time, between her dreams and the darkness, she thought she was still a girl, waiting for some dashing menace to come through her bedroom window and induct her into the kind of world Damien had once promised. It wasn't anyone like that, but Wren did look sort of dashing as he stumbled down onto the bed, cursing.

"What?" she managed to say, still half asleep.

"I have to get something off my ch-chest," he said, and she winced at his whiskey breath. Like her, Wren never drank.

"What the hell?" she said, trying to sit up and finding she was too tired. "You drove here drunk?"

"No," he said. "I drove here hours ago – hours! Hours, Henry. Trying to work up the nuh – nerve to go to that stupid party. But I didn't, I just sat at that bar talking to that Skeeter person until he threw me out, which is now."

"Which is now," Henrietta said flatly, guiding him down to the pillow. "Okay, just. Calm down. I'll get you some water. Jesus, Wren, you climbed through the window?"

"No, wait," he said, grabbing for her. "I have to say this before I forget how to."

"Okay," she said, sighing. She propped herself on her elbow and brushed Wren's hair from his forehead. He still wore it a little long in front, in defiance of the man. "What?"

"I want to adopt Olee," he said, making his face serious, looking like Oleander when he was trying not to cry. "For real. Officially."

"Yeah?" she said, taken off guard. "Okay, well. Why?"

"Why?" He sat up, winced and moaned, pressing his palm to his forehead. "Why, Henry? Because I love him, and I don't want you yanking him out of my life as soon as you find some football player to take you away from all this."

"Wren," she said, pushing him back down to the pillows. "I would never do that to you, or to him. And away from all of what? You know I'm happy, living with you."

"You're not," he said, pointing his finger in her face. "You won't muh – marry me."

"Because you're gay, honey," she said, feeling awful for saying so out loud, because she never had before. She'd always been waiting for him to come to terms with it, never wanted to push. He scowled.

"Why the hell do you think that?" he asked, getting sort of loud. "What did I do to – I mean, fuck, Henry, I've been in love with you since we were _babies_. You have to tell yourself I'm gay to make yourself feel better about not wanting me?"

"You're drunk," she said, sitting up. Her heart was beating harder than it had all day, slamming.

"What do I have to do?" he asked, drilling his palms into his eyes. "I've given you everything, and I've never – never asked for anything, 'cause I know you don't want it, but I – you could at least respect me enough to reject me. Not just act like I'm gay, so, problem solved! That was everyone else, Henry, your dream boy Stan, all those guys. Not me."

"You never dated," she said, scanning his body for signs of alien possession. He was wearing one of his black v-necks, and it was riding up a little, making her want to touch his stomach, because he was breathing so hard.

"I fucked a few girls," he said miserably, peeking at her. "In college. You didn't know. It was okay, but they weren't you. Oh, shit, I wasted my whole life, _I get it_. But I love Olee so much, Henry, even if that prick Damien put him in you. I can't lose him, too, when you go."

"I'm not going anywhere, though," she said, touching his face. He opened his eyes and looked at her. He seemed frightened, like he thought she was going to call the police or something. "And you don't – you can't just say this stuff to me, Wren. Not after this long."

"I know," he said, wincing. "That's why I kept waiting. Because it was always already too late! And you hated that conformist love crap, anyway, and Damien was so – whatever. Your type. But you were going back to – back to South Park without me."

"I wasn't," she said. "I'm not. I'm so ready to get out of South Park." She put her head down on the pillow beside his, hugging her arm across his chest. He moaned and rolled against her.

"Henry," he said, touching her hair, his eyes closed. "Don't leave me. He doesn't love you like I do."

"Who?" she asked, glad for how late it was and how exhausted she felt, because she needed the surreal haze that was draped over both of them.

"Stan," he said, cracking his eyes open. "Stan Marsh."

"That was a juvenile crush," she said. "But it was good, Wren, it was so good, because all that pointless teenage angst somehow resulted in this _girl_, and she's got crazy hair and pretty eyes, and she's her parents' whole life. That's what you can't go back and tell your teenage self. Did you ever think you'd beg to adopt the baby Damien knocked me up with?"

"Yes," Wren said, nodding. "I thought that. Back then, probably. It probably crossed my mind."

She kissed him, experimentally. There was an edge of chewing gum along with the whiskey taste, as if he'd hoped to conceal his night of drinking alone. She stroked his hair when they pulled apart. She'd always liked guys with black hair.

"Don't patronize me," he said, softly.

"How many times could I have told you that?" she asked. "When you lied to your parents about not getting a scholarship so you could use your college fund to buy food for me and Olee? When you moved us into your house? I'm not patronizing you. You're my life. You and Olee are everything I have. But go to sleep, please, you're so drunk."

"Henry," he said, pawing at her hair. "You still think I'm gay, goddammit."

"No, actually. I guess it's been dawning on me – slowly – that you might not be. I was just afraid to deal with it."

"I don't want to be something you're afraid to deal with," he said, and then he was asleep, drooling.

She was awake for a long time after that, thinking. Her room still smelled like it had in high school, cigarettes and cheap incense. Wren's hair smelled so much better than it had back then. He didn't use products anymore, and the red streak had died off during his freshman year of college. He smelled like sweat and dirt, like someone who had walked all the way from Skeeter's bar and climbed a tree to get to her.

In the morning, she slept until she felt him stirring. He moved over her carefully and slid out of the bed, stumbling toward the trash can at her desk to throw up.

"Wren," she said.

"Sorry," he said, spitting into the trash can. "I'm sorry – for that. I know I said. Some things."

"Come here," she said. "Come back to bed."

He was amazed that she was willing to have sex with him before he'd brushed his teeth. It had been way too long for her to wait for something as small as minty fresh breath, and Damien had always had terrible breath, worse than regurgitated whiskey: chronic halitosis. It was the one thing about him that had repelled her.

"Dad's here!" Oleander said when they came down to breakfast together. Oleander was still in his pajamas, eating Lucky Charms, a special treat he only got at his grandma's house.

"How'd you get here?" Henrietta's mother asked, and she looked at Henrietta before Wren could answer. She seemed like she knew something was different, and like she wanted to be filled in right away. Henrietta went for the fridge, grabbing the orange juice.

"I flew here on a magic carpet," Wren said, taking a seat beside Oleander and kissing the top of his head. "Haven't you heard that things like that happen here, in South Park?"

"Like the pregnant boys!" Oleander said, holding his spoon in his fist. "Dad! I met their daughters. They were pretty. I mean – they looked normal "

"Looks can be deceiving," Wren said. "No one from South Park is normal. And that's a good thing. You should be proud of your, you know. Heritage."

"Don't fill his head with stories," Henrietta's mother said.

"It's not a story," Henrietta said, taking her seat at the table. "Remember you're special," she said to Oleander. "Like those girls. You could tell they were special, too, I bet."

"One of them was," he said, and then he ate Lucky Charms furiously. Henrietta grinned at Wren, who raised his eyebrows. She thought of the first breakfast she'd had with Wren after finding out that she would be alone with this baby, and the way Wren had recoiled at the white envelope Damien gave her, the ugly blots of eyeliner on her paper napkin. There was no one who could convince her that all of the sloppy, impossible things that happened in South Park weren't real magic, and for the first time in a while she was glad to be back.

(the end)


End file.
